Her Favorite Color was Purple
by nakala
Summary: Mercedes does the unexpected, and an unsuspecting person is going to be there.
1. Chapter 1

They cover her hand. Twenty, or thirty, or so tiny white pills. Her hands are trembling in anticipation her mind has already accepted. This is the way it must be. There's nothing left for me here.

Tears are streaming down her eyes. One last cry, she thinks as she giggles inwardly; what a way to go, follows as she realizes that that is the name of a Brian McKnight song, which makes her cry more. She doesn't understand how it had come to this, and why she can't even face her demise boldly. This poor unfortunate soul had once been a vibrant, lively teenager, but too much bullying and even more loneliness has transformed her into a cowering depressed shell of herself that sickened her.

She hadn't bothered to comb her hair for a week and not to her surprise no one barely noticed. Looking in the mirror that she had avoided for the past year, she sees herself as everyone else does. Useless. Worthless. Invisible.

Almond shaped brown eyes once shone brightly now stare back at her void of life. Her Smooth skin is flawless, yet, looks pale from lack of care; her glow looks faded and washed out from sleepless nights and lack of eating. A large man hoodie covered what she deemed disgusting, and matching sweat pants hid her large misshapened butt. All these distortions are reflected in her mind's eye.

A rogue tear lands onto the pills the young woman is holding. She is ready, and they would all find her here tomorrow a result of their actions. I'll show them. They deserve to have my death burned into their minds and haunting their dreams. She twists the cap off the water bottle she had been carrying around all day. The girl attempts to put all of the pills into her mouth, yet, another distorted view of herself limits her ability to take her life in one fell swoop. Her mouth is smaller than she thought, but it couldn't be. Maybe that was just the fear taking over, I don't have a small mouth, I can't no one with a small mouth is so dang loud all the time. Wanting to stop her self-deprecating rant, she empties the remaining sleeping pills into her mouth draining the bottle of lukewarm water. Once the last pill is swallowed, she breathes a sigh of relief knowing her pain will be over soon.

Drowsiness doesn't set in immediately as she assumed it would. Hoping she's near death, she settles in under the sink sitting with her back against the wall her legs folding in Indian style. She takes a look around using her sight for the last time. Taking a deep breath, she smells the familiar smell of the girl's bathroom, not really the scent she thought she should be smelling considering this would be the last thing she would be inhaling in her life. The teenager's life is almost over and her last request is to experience all five senses for the last time. But bearing in mind, she has chosen the girl's restroom for her end, she would just settle for 3 because there was no way she was going to touch anything else in this place and taste was definitely not an option.

She stands up thinking that walking around may speed up this process. Pacing the floor of the bathroom she has retreated to innumerable times, her past year begins to replay itself in her mind.

_Humiliation had become a staple in her benign existence. She was slushied nearly every day, constantly accosted with racial slurs, and fat jokes. It had been happening most of her life the fat jokes and racial slurs, but the slushy thing was new. New and soul crushing. The first time was the worst. I was walking to my locker and just as I'm about to open it, books in tow, I feel the sting of shaved ice and freezing flavored water hit my face. My eyes begin to burn as some of the slushy gets into them dripping from my bangs. It's purple. How ironic my favorite color. I looked down at my brand new white shirt. It's ruined, and so were my school books. Tears ran hot down my face; I tried to stop them but I couldn't, what's worse I could feel everyone's eyes teasing me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I ran to the principal's office explained everything and was told to go to class. If I didn't see who did it then there was nothing that he could do. But everyone knew. I knew. The principal knew. The jocks were always the culprit. Pick one. From his office I ran to the lone girl's restroom on the lowest floor. This was my place of solitude. I had come here often before, mostly during lunch, but this time was different it felt different. I wasn't just coming here to be alone; now, I was here because I was alone. This was just the beginning of the end of my life. _

She pauses mid stride feeling a little weak in her knees. She tries to move her legs but she can't. She's stuck; her legs are too heavy to lift. Her head is even heavier. Her vision blurred and distorted, she sees the room move topsy-turvy and spinning. Her eyelids fall abruptly, and she feels her head smack the floor. She is unconscious collapsed across the bathroom floor at her school after hours.

Opening her eyes, she is back where it happened, the event that tipped the scales in favor of death over life.

_He was in her bedroom lying beside her. She looked over at him in total amazement, not knowing what lay ahead. She couldn't believe she had lost her virginity to Finn. She stared at him for what she thought could have been hours. It wasn't that long. _

_He got off the bed without even looking at me. He was so nice before. "What's wrong." She pulled the covers over her bare chest and sat up in her bed with her back against the bedpost. "Where are you going? Why are you getting dressed?" _

_He didn't answer only continued dressing. _

"_Finn was I not…good?" _

"_No, you were great better than I thought you would be." She could hear something different in his voice. Something distant and cold._

"_Finn?" _

"_What? What do you want? I'm leaving, going home." _

"_But why? Finn I thought…why can't you stay? Why are you being mean?" _

"_I'm not being mean, just honest." _

"_What…?" _

"_I'm not coming back. I don't want to; I only slept with you as a dare. The relationship wasn't real, and I don't want you bothering me anymore. Okay?" _

_Tears stained her sheets as she whimpered and nodded her head in agreement. He left and she was burdened with a pain tantamount to death and she wondered why, followed by why not, and I will. _

Her first and only boyfriend had been a ruse. They concocted this just for the fun of it, not caring about the consequences. What consequences? Nothing ever happened to them, Finn Quinn, Karofsky, and the rest of the jocks. They always saw her walking alone, not really bothering anybody such an easy target. It was just a dare, a sinister and devious dare that couldn't hurt anyone. Maybe she would get her feelings hurt and be humiliated but nothing would happen. "Finn I dare you to make her your girlfriend and when she falls in love with you break-up with her publically." "No way."

"What about for a price?"

"Name the price, you got a deal only no real touching, especially not in public."

There it was; it was a deal, and they were playing with her life as if it were a game.

She tries to open her eyes, to speak, to move but nothing. She knows she's all alone and fear strikes her heart. A sudden realization emerges in her mind. I don't' want to die alone. The face of her mother pops into view, and she begins to panic. Her mother loved her, and she knew it, would miss it. She remembered how loving her daddy was; he treated her like a princess when he was around. He was never really there much, and it affected her in ways he did not know. But it's too late, as she feels herself fade out of existence, she hears a voice in the distance calling her name, but she's too far away to make out who it is. The sound of her name gets softer and softer until it is completely gone, and so is she.

Football practice has just ended and Puck is lagging around the school as usual. He always needed time to wind down after practice and today is no different. The jock had a favorite place he liked to do this and a little bit more. All the running around at practice seems to always stir up his bowels. Walking down the hallway, Puck lets the day's events wash over him.

This day had been quite peculiar from the beginning; arriving at school, he was pulled into the principal's office to be awarded the citizen of the week award, which ironically was the same week he had thrown three nerds in the dumpster and flattened Artie's wheels on his wheelchair. The award being probably the most peculiar of all the things that happened today. The next being the girl that catches my eye in English class. She's always answering questions and seems quite fearless. But today or for the entire week, I had managed to overlook her only to realize she was still there where she was everyday during 4th period. She appeared disheveled out of her element, which may not have been that peculiar to some people, but I noticed. Today was even worse. She seemed zoned out, like she had been smoking something, which was completely odd because she always, even earlier this week, still participated in class no matter how unenthused her answers were. Shortly after that class, I managed to skip the rest of my classes by faking ill and I saw the girl from English come into the nurse's office and take a bottle of pills. I am no psychiatrist, but I never would have pegged English Girl for a pill popper or pusher. She was thoroughly peculiar. Completely. Oh yeah, and I totally think the nurse has a massive crush on me. Football practice went as it usually does; Finn running the show, while Sam tries to outdo him, and I just do what I'm there for playing ball.

Puck turns into the girls bathroom and is stunned by the image that is before his eyes. English Girl is sprawled across the floor. Immobile. I don't move fearful of what is happening in front of me. The young girl lay beside an empty bottle. I snap out of my trance and scream her name as I rush to her side performing CPR as soon as I reach her. In between breaths and chest pumps I dial 911 and tell them to hurry. They arrive faster than I have ever seen them do, and I'm grateful. They get her on the gurney and put her in the back of the ambulance.

"Are you coming?" The paramedics look at Puck.

"What…yeah. Yeah I'm coming." I climb into the van beside English Girl and whisper in her ear, "Please wake up Mercedes."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 her favorite color was purple

As they roll her out of the van, the jarring motions cause a folded piece of paper to fall out her sweater pocket. I look around not wanting anyone to see me, and when the coast is clear, I pick up the letter. I don't open it afraid of what it may read. Following the paramedics, into the hospital, Puck feels that maybe he shouldn't be here, but he follows the paramedics into the emergency room anyway. At least someone should be here if she wakes up. They take her further into the emergency room and the nurse tells me to wait in the waiting room. I hesitate looking over her shoulder trying to get a glimpse of Mercedes. And when I do, my stomach clenches and doubles over. She is lying on the stretcher her sweatshirt cut open with tubes protruding out of her mouth, sticking out of her nose, and attached to her arm. Big tubes and small tubes were everywhere. The doctors look like maybe they are trying to bring her back. I know I recognize CPR, but right now, I can't seem to think straight. All of a sudden, I hear them ask for the crash cart and my heart drops. I don't know why, but I'm more upset about the scene unfolding before my eyes for more reasons than the fact that I'm seeing someone possibly dying. "**Clear!**" Puck jumps in response to the charge that is sent through Mercedes' body, mirroring her body's disturbing reaction to the shock. He screams her name not aware of the tears that are pouring out of his eyes, and attempts to push past the nurse standing in front of him. When security notices, he is nearly by her side. He feels them grab at his arms, and he fights against them until he is over powered by the younger security officer. He is dragged outside of the room and forced to sit down in the waiting room while they stand guard. He sits there with his face buried in his hands reflecting over what he should do or what he could do in this case.

I want to call someone, her Mom or her Dad. How is that even possible? I don't have any of their numbers. Why would I? I don't even know her number or even her for that matter. Oh God, what am I supposed to do? What can I do? Puck sits in silence for minutes, which feels like decades to him, entranced in constant thought. He couldn't go a moment without contemplating the state of English Girl's life and what has happened to her. Not wanting to believe what the voice is saying in his head, Puck jumps from his seat. At this, the guards stationed near him grab him suspecting him to try to power his way back into the emergency room. He looks at each of them reassuring them that he is not going to try anything. He just needs to stand, stretch, and free his mind. Puck paces the floor of the waiting room trying to figure out how to contact her parents, or friends, or someone, making it easier to ignore his inner thoughts. He thinks back to school. Hoping he can remember her with someone that he may know or may be able to contact somehow.

About a year ago she used to hang out with that gay dude who got bullied all the time, but I haven't seen him in about a year. I don't know him anyway so what good is that. Think. Think. Who have I seen her with? Wait. Finn. He mentioned her name the other day, said something about maybe dating her. I have his number!

"Hello?"

"Do you know Mercedes?"

"Who?"

"Mercedes, uh…Mercedes…Jones. I heard you talking about her the other day and I need to know if you know how to contact her parents or any other friends of hers."

"No! I don't know her."

"Look, man, this is really important; so stop worrying about your stupid reputation. I have to contact her parents can you help me?"

Finn hesitates on the other end of the phone causing Puck to become enraged. "Finn! Stop playing around and tell me what you know!"

"Okay, I don't know her parents, but I do know the number to her home. Wait a sec." Finn looks into his cell phone for her home number stored as _the v-spot_. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah."

"It's 555-2193. Her parents are rarely home; so don't expect to get anyone. Hey, what is wrong with-"

Before Finn could finish his last sentence, Puck had hung up the phone in disgust and began dialing English Girl's home number. He hears a familiar voice as the voicemail begins. "Hi you have reached the home of me, Mercedes, Dr. Caren, and Dr. Reese. We're not home right now, but leave a brief message and number and we'll be sure to call you back. Have a nice day." The automated voice ends the message, "Please leave your message after the tone."

Beep.

"Hey it's Puck, I mean Noah Puckerman, Mercedes is in the hospital. The emergency room. Uh, please come…um, she's all alone. Please come…" Puck's somber voice trails off saddened by the realization that at this very moment he was all Mercedes had, and although he had barely spoken one word to her in his life, he was committed to the idea.

Finn is shocked at the tone of Puck's voice. He seemed very concerned for someone, Finn was sure, who didn't even know or acknowledge Mercedes' existence. He wants to call him back; to get answers as to why he needed her parents and why he was so upset. The thought that something could be wrong or that Mercedes was hurt doesn't exactly cross his mind, except for a very minute pang of worry he feels in his heart that she could be in any kind of danger. He simply wanted to quell the curiosity that had been conjured from the conversation.

Pacing in the waiting room, Puck can't stop his mind from thinking the worse. He had not heard from the doctors, and every time he asked someone for an update he got the same response, "they'll let you know." This was driving him insane. How could they not tell him what was going on? She could be dying and no one would know. God where are her parents. "Hey, uh, it's me, Noah, again. I was just calling to see if anyone had made it home, well…when you get this hurry to the hospital I'll be here. I won't leave her. Call my number if, I don't know, you need me it's 555-8133." Puck hangs up the phone angry and wondering where could English Girl's parents be. Why are her parents not at home? Why haven't they called her? Puck is troubled. He knew everyone's parents weren't all great, his mom wasn't always the best, but Mercedes seemed so normal he just knew she had to have great parents; yet, now he can't suppress the anger rising inside of him at English Girl's parents. How could they not be here right now with their little girl? How could they not see something like this coming? They live with her; I don't' even talk to her, and I knew something was wrong, was off about her. Here it is hitting him in the face; the very thing he had been trying to avoid since he had seen her lying there lifeless on the girl's restroom floor. Why would she do something like this to herself?

Puck stuffs his hands into his pockets exasperatedly wanting to walk outside to get some air but doesn't fearing that the doctor might come out with an update and he'll miss it.

The nurse who he virtually assaulted sees him standing at the window fidgeting with his hands in his pockets. He looks worried, and she decides to go talk to him. "Hi, how are you doing?"

Puck's mind is far away wrapped around the folded paper he is fiddling with in his pocket. "Uh, what…I don't know, I'm good I guess. How is Mercedes? Is she …" His voice trails off and he allows his mind to follow.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything concrete, but I think they're still working on her."

The glimmer of hope that had sparkled in his eyes when she approached quickly fades as soon as she had spoken those words. He turns back to face the window with one hand in his pocket flipping the paper around and the other perched on the window as he leans against it. He closes his eyes. This was really some kind of day.

The nurse places a hand on his shoulder sensing that the young man needed comforting. "I'm sure your girlfriend will be okay. Is there anything I can get for you?"

He heard the words come out of her mouth, but it doesn't really register not until he has replayed what she said over in his head. She thinks I am her boyfriend. I should probably tell her that I'm not, but what difference would that make. That doesn't really matter right now. "I hope so. She doesn't deserve this." He pauses, thinking of her again on the floor possibly dead at the time.

"Do you want me to get you something, some coffee, or something to eat?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You've been here a while I'll bring you a sandwich from the cafeteria. You should eat something."

Puck doesn't answer, but the nurse smiles and goes to the cafeteria. Puck looks in the nurse's direction feeling guilty for not being more kind, but quickly becomes distracted as he realizes he has been playing with English Girl's paper. He takes it out of his pocket flipping it around and turning it over in his hand. Hesitation was keeping him from doing what he really wanted to do. Open it. And just as he is about to build up the nerve to open the folded piece of paper, he finds smells like vanilla, his cell phone rings.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it's been so long, I have had a terrible bout of writers block and school has been more than I thought it was going to be. Sorry for the delay for those of you that are still reading also I'm trying to finish this up as soon as possible (I make no promises) because I am writing a new story that won't escape my mind as well as trying to get some leeway on 5 years. **

**Also I want to thank all those that favorited and alerted my story and me and those who reviewed. THANKS SO MUCH!**

**So without taking up any more of your time…**

**Chapter 3**

"Noah where are you? Why aren't you home? It's getting late and … Noah please tell me you are not doing that again."

"No Mom, I'm not doing anything like that again. It's not…I'm at the hospita-"

"Are you okay? Why didn't you call me sooner? Noah what happened? I'm on my way."

"No! No!No! Wait Mom it's not me. I'm fine. It's this girl I go to school wi-"

"You didn't get her pregnant did you? Noah?"

"No Mom. Can you just let me talk?"

"Don't get smart with me Noah Puckerman."

"I'm sorry," Puck says rolling his eyes. His mom always assumed the worse about him; then again, he had given her plenty of reason over the years. "It's this girl I know from English class I found her passed out or dead in the girl's bathroom and tried to revive her, but when that wasn't working I called for an ambulance. I've been here with her since."

"Why haven't you called? Do you know what happened?"

"I don't know, maybe I was a bit preoccupied; a girl was dying. I am so sorry I didn't think to call you." The sarcastic tone in Puck's voice stunned his mother. She didn't expect him to be so unnerved about someone other than himself. Feeling her son's agitation, she let this one slide.

"So do you know what happened; is she okay?"

"Mom I think…" Puck's voice was beginning to crack but he fought back his emotions speaking stoically. "I think she may have tried to commit suicide." Puck's mom gasps and stifles her concern a little.

"Noah were you two close. I mean did you _know_ her?"

"No, nothing like that, I just had a class with her."

She could hear how somber her son was and knew her son felt more for this girl from class than maybe even he knew. "Do her parents know?"

"I don't even know where they are; I have left two messages and I haven't heard from them at all. How could they not know something is wrong? Mom? How could they not know something's wrong?"

"Maybe they work late, Noah, I'm sure they would be there if they knew. Did you contact anyone else?"

"I don't know any of her friends. I don't think she has any."

"Oh, well, are you staying? Do you need me to come there with you?"

"No, Mom, I'm good. Look, I don't know if I'll be home tonight. I kinda want to be here with her when she wakes up."

"Okay, Noah, but if you need anything please call me. Okay? I love you, Noah."

Puck smiles knowing his mom means it with all of her heart in spite of all he does. "I know, Mom, and I love you too. Thanks, you know…for…everything." Noah's mom hung up the phone with tears in her eyes. She had always known that one day her beautiful son would show that big heart of his he kept hidden and guarded.

Puck puts his phone back into his pocket thinking of his mother. He really does appreciate everything she does for him and everything she puts up with. As he pulls his hand out his pocket, the very paper he had been dreading to read and anxious to read simultaneously, fell out onto the floor by his foot. He picks it up and unfolds it immediately wanting to get it over with, curious about what could possibly be written on the paper. Just as he is about to read the first line, the nurse returns with a sandwich and drink in her hands. God, I'm never gonna get to read this letter. "Thanks." Puck grabs the meal hoping the nurse will see he doesn't want to be bothered and will leave.

"You're welcome. I just heard about your girlfriend."

"You did?" I know I should tell her I'm not her boyfriend but I just can't seem to make the words form in my mind or mouth.

"Yes, Dr. Fabien said to tell you that she was stable. Although, they almost lost her; she is fine now. The contents of her stomach showed a few pills; they suspect that she tried to commit suicide. Do you know anything about this?"

Finally hearing that Mercedes was at least okay, made Puck feel much lighter, but that was juxtaposed by the latter revelation. "That's good to hear." The nurse looked at Puck questioningly "About her being okay, but, um…no, I don't know anything. Not really. I don't know anything… about her trying to take her life I mean."

"Oh, okay. He also said that they were going to keep an eye on her for a while, monitor her progress, if there is any, which should be about an hour or two. After that, they're going to take her to a room."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, she's going to be staying for a couple of days to recover and for us to keep an eye on her."

"Why?"

"She's on suicide watch." Puck looks down. This is horrible she does not deserve this. "Look," the nurse places her hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes as she speaks, "it's procedure, and with a boyfriend like you, she'll come around soon. She'll be alright. Hey, I have to go but make sure you eat this. I'll come get you when the room is ready." The smile on the nurse's face makes Puck feel at ease. English girl's boyfriend, huh?

"Yeah, thanks for the food and for letting me know about Mercedes."

The nurse gave Puck another smile and walked away, and he sat down to eat the sack lunch the nurse just gave him. He finishes his sandwich, and sleep forcibly takes him captive as he dozes off. He doesn't know how long he has been sleeping when he wakes up finding the nurse, who has been a liaison of sorts, approaching him with that comforting smile she has been wearing all evening. "So you're awake."

"I guess so, what's up? Is she in her room yet?"

The smile grows even brighter as she proceeds to tell Puck the good news. "Yes, she is in room 213. She's going to be out of it for a while, and we're not sure when she'll wake up, but she's doing fine and should wake up in the morning if she doesn't wake up tonight. Do you want me to take you to see her?"

Puck nods and begins to follow the nurse. He can't think of her name and it irks him. He should know the name of the person who has been so nice to him. "Hey, uh, I didn't get your name."

"April, it's April." They continue the rest of the way to the room in silence. Puck's silence due to the frog in his throat steadily rising the closer he gets to the room threatening to choke him if he speaks. He approaches the hospital room with such trepidation that his hands were trembling. He wasn't sure what he was going to see once he entered the room. The last time he had seen Mercedes she was being shocked with a crash cart near death with tubes protruding from every orifice. So he had to prepare himself mentally. April, on the other hand, was allowing the patient's boyfriend to ready himself for what he was about to see. "She's right in here…"

"Puck, oh I mean, Noah. It's Noah."

"Okay, Noah, I'll leave you alone with Mrs. Jones. If you need anything press the button and I'll be in here to help you."

"Okay. Thanks April."

April smiles at Noah and is nearly out the door when she turns around and asks Noah a question. "Have you heard from her parents?"

"No, I couldn't contact them, but I'm sure they'll be here when they find out."

April flashes Noah a faint smile and exits the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**SO I'M BACK (DIDN'T THINK YOU WOULD SEE ME THIS SOON DID YOU **:D**) THERES NOT MUCH TO SAY HERE EXCEPT THANKS TO ALL THOSE WHO REVIEWED Justareader13, Murgy31, WinnieMoo, BreeGleek, Isis Aurora Tomoe, ANAMYOUS, and Jessicafan4life.**

**So without further ado…**

**Chapter 4**

Puck walks over to the bed where Mercedes is laying appearing to be sleeping without any tubes present. She seems peaceful, but apparently, looks can be deceiving because no one that knows peace tries to off themselves. He stalks toward her bedside moving an inch at a time. His mind ablaze with fears of what if she doesn't want me here and what if she doesn't wake up. As he reaches the side of English Girl's bed, instincts take over and Puck finds his hand on top of hers with his fingers cupping her hand firmly. He leans in towards Mercedes and whispers in her ear. "Mercedes please wake up." Standing up with his hand still on hers, he hopes against all hope that she opens her eyes. Nothing happens. His eyes glaze over with realization. Hesitantly removing his hand from hers, the melancholic teenager backs away, pulls a chair from the corner, and places it directly beside her bed, making it possible for him to continue holding her hand while sitting.

Noticing the time and the fact that he hasn't heard anything from her parents, he takes his cell phone from his pocket and dials Mercedes' home number, hoping that her parents are there to answer. Anger boils inside him when he hears the voice of the girl lying unconscious in the bed in front of him. After the beep, he leaves a message. "This is Noah. I called earlier. She is in a room now. Mercedes is in room 213." Puck's speech was as void of any emotion as he could manage. He hangs up the phone and rests his eyes upon Mercedes.

Looking at English Girl, he sits beside her in mental limbo. His thoughts coming from every direction and no direction at all. Everything seemed simpler to him before now; make sure English Girl doesn't die, get her help, contact her parents, and go home, but when her parents hadn't answered any of his calls, he found himself unable to just walk away. Now, here he was, sitting at Mercedes' bedside holding her hand wishing she would wake up. He didn't know why he was holding her hand; he only knew it felt right. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from thinking that her mom or dad should be here sitting in the very spot he was in, feeling the same thing he was feeling times fifty. Instead, she had him. Mildly, he wished she'd recognize him when she opened her eyes, maybe then it wouldn't be so bad if she woke up and he was all she had, but because Puck knows he is someone she doesn't know and probably hasn't ever noticed exists, he doesn't put too much weight on this wish. He feels his hand involuntarily tighten over her hand as he holds back tears that are fighting their way to the surface. It hurt him that English Girl may awaken to a stranger. If it were him lying in the bed and his mom wasn't there, he would be broken. And he did not want that to happen to her. She obviously has been through enough already.

Puck lays his head on the bed partly from exhaustion and the other from utter frustration. His usual routine after football practice included a trip to the girl's restroom, they were the cleanest, which he may never do again, and after a drive home, he would raid the fridge, and take a long nap until his mom got home from work. He'd help with dinner and dishes, something he felt he owed his mom since she worked so hard all the time, and sometimes he did a little homework. Suddenly, Puck is reminded of the very fact that he's only eaten a small lunch since football practice. Now add hunger to that list of frustration and exhaustion. It wasn't too late; so, he could go to the hospital cafeteria, but there was no way he was going to leave her before her parents got there in case she woke up. He looked up at Mercedes with his head still resting on the bed and his thumb gently rubbing the back of her hand. Why would a beautiful smart girl want to do this to herself? He breathes a sigh of exasperation, closes his eyes, and buries his face in his arm. Then a revelation comes to him. The answer to his question is in his pocket. Puck steps away from the bed and walks over to the window. He fiddles with the letter, flipping it over in his hand a few times before pulling it out. He opens one of the folds, glancing over at Mercedes. The paper nearly unfolds itself as Puck pushes out thoughts of English Girl waking up and how wrong he was for reading something that was no longer valid because thankfully the person who wrote it isn't dead.

Her handwriting was loopy and girly, and she had chosen to write in deep purple ink. This made Puck smile, as he realizes this has to be her favorite color. Images of her at different times flash in his mind. He sees her with a purple headband, or wearing purple earrings, or sometimes purple fingernails. I wonder if anyone else ever noticed that she never wore purple shirts, or jackets, or shoes, but somehow she always found a way to have on purple. Snapping out of his reverie, Puck's attention is drawn back to the tear stained suicide letter in his hand. He looks over at Mercedes one last time before leaning against the window and reading the letter.

_Dear Reader,_

_I am aware that you may not know me, and I do not doubt that you do not contain a morsel of care for my success in escaping the insatiable torment that was my life. My innermost desire would be that you are one of the many people who have directly influenced my decision to swallow pilfered pills and surrender willingly to death. However, as fate was never on my side, I dare say you are feasibly neither my antagonist nor an ill-wisher. Nonetheless, I hope that before the final letter of the final line has been read you will have gathered a glimpse of whom, I, Mercedes Jones was and understand why I chose to abandon the breath of life before ever having a chance to truly live. _

"_When sorrows come, they come not as single spies, but in battalions;" and mine have been making appearances for the better part of the life I no longer choose to endure. Growing up as one of the only black families in our neighborhood, racial epithets were as common to me as the absence of my father at breakfast. Frequent visits to the school nurse became all too familiar during adolescence. Time forged on, and age taught me to dampen the fire that burned with defiance those whose words I engulfed, internalizing their unjust punishment for being born with my God given earthly hue. And just as I ate those words, sustenance followed forming a barrier around me barricading me from the hurt and disappointment waiting around each corner sneering with anticipation. Then he came along. Two souls entwined with a love presumably transcending friendship and deeper than intimacy. His acceptance comforted me and his presence consoled my aching heart. Kurt invaded my solitude and I welcomed him. Inseparable for nearly six years, he became my family when family meant stranger. Daddy who are you? Mommy where are you? Thank you Kurt for being there when my mom was working and my father otherwise indisposed. Had you not been there perchance my fate may have met me sooner. One of my favorite authors wrote, "Such as we are made of, such we be," and I wonder what I am. Who can I be when my existence was tempered with emptiness? There were no proclamations of "You're my little princess," or "You're the most beautiful girl in the world" only silence. Empty draining void. Daddy's too busy to give his daughter the attention all little girls crave; instead, he's a fleeting moment in my memory, a mere figment of my imaginations and dreams. He probably calls my secret half sister his "Little Princess." Hence, I have stricken his name from the table of my heart in hopes of never having to feel the pain my mom fills her nights drinking to forget. I'm sorry mommy that daddy doesn't love us. I'm sorry that you have tried so hard to keep it together only to have it all crumble to pieces at the touch of your fingertips. I love you, and I'm sorry that I'm leaving you alone. I'm sorry that all you had to give me was loneliness and hollowness until all I could become was nothing._

_Nothing I could do or say would get him to change his mind. No amount of begging or pleading worked and he left taking along with him my only happiness and our friendship. We haven't spoken in over a year, and he doesn't know that his absence has indirectly influenced my decision to knock at death's door. Kurt left me to deal with life alone, but I still love him. I love you Kurt, but I fear you did not love me enough. _

_High school was the bane of my existence, cliché I know, but completely true. __The battalion came full force every day. Slushy painting my face marring clothes and ripping a piece of my soul away with each drop from my chin. It was Quinn, Azimio, or Karofsky. Sometimes just another faceless jock falling in line to humiliate me and murder my dignity. Countless nights I cried myself asleep to enter a slumber drenched with reincarnations of life's sordid disasters only to awaken to more tears. Tears I thought had dissipated once I started dating Finn. It wasn't a public relationship. I wasn't worth it, and I understood. Who would want to be seen with nothing? Despite my underlying intuition, I fell in love with him; I gave him everything that was never given to me and everything I didn't have to give. He had all of me. Finn Hudson took what was left of me used it and threw it back at me. "The question is whether suicide is the way out or the way in." Maybe death would afford me the peace I have never known but sorely longed for. Maybe I'm not leaving life but, perhaps, finally beginning to live. Leaving a life behind of hurt and people who want to destroy._

_I travel through life invisible. To my mom, especially my dad, Kurt, Finn, You, and even myself. I look in the mirror and I barely recognize who I am looking at. There's a shadow hovering over my being darkening my aura. There's no life there, and I figure I may as well oblige. Life is nothing to me. Has nothing for me. I'm tired of being looked through and bumped into without any inclination of acknowledgement. I'm tired of the realization that right now the person reading my last words has seen me yet doesn't know me nor does the sound of my name bring a picture of me to your mind. It hurts. Living. Breathing hurts. "To die, to sleep, no more and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished." If you're reading this, my wish came true. _

Upon finishing English Girl's suicide letter, Puck realizes that in addition to Mercedes' tears a few of his have joined the sadness on the page. He can't believe what he has read. So many emotions were flowing through him. Anger, pity, confusion, melancholy. He always knew there was something behind those espresso colored eyes. I saw you. Puck bangs his fist against the wall to vent some of the frustration he was feeling. How could they? How could all those people she cares for ignore her and treat her like that. God! Fuming Puck paces the floor rubbing his Mohawk. He calms down not wanting Mercedes to awaken at this moment. He stops at the bottom of her bed looking at her _sleeping. _Unconscious. His eyes fall back onto the now crumpled paper, as he hears someone burst into the room.

**P.S. the quotes in the letter are from Shakespeare and Emerson**


	5. Chapter 5

**SO IM BACK I KNOW ITS BEEN A WHILE YADA YADA YADA, SORRY FOR THE WAIT AND THANKS TO ALL THOSE THAT REVIEWED FAVORITED AND ALERTED ALTHOUGH I WOULDN'T MIND MORE REVIEWS BUT ANYWAYS SINCE I HAVEN'T DONE IT IN A WHILE:**

**I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT MY OCs AND MY STORY **

**ENJOY!**

Looking up, Puck quickly stuffs the note in his pocket as a tall slender caramel colored woman runs to English Girl sobbing nearly falling on top of her. She lays on top of Mercedes moaning and mumbling apologies until a darker man walks into the room.

"Who are you?"

Puck looks at the man a bit fearfully. The guy was massive. He stood at least 7 inches over Puck who wasn't a dwarf by any stretch of the imagination at 6 feet himself. He had broad shoulders and a very muscular build. Aside from his intimidating physique, his face was contorted into the most menacing grimace. "I'm Noah Puckerman." I can feel the anger pricking at my insides, but I knew getting out of hand with this man would not be a good idea. The man, who Puck has figured out, is clearly English Girl's be-hated father, raises his brow as if to say 'that tells me nothing.' I caught his drift, and staring the man in the eye, I precede to explain, further biting back the anger forcefully threatening to take over. "I go to school with Mercedes. I left you the messages that she was at the hospital. I found her unconscious in the bathroom not breathing. I've been waiting for her _**family**_ for hours. What took you so long?" Puck couldn't believe his ears. He hadn't meant to say that to Mr. Jones. Sure he wanted to, and the uncontrollable rage swelling up in him as he spoke to the man he knew was a vital part in Mercedes' current state afforded him that ability, no matter how inappropriate. And stupid. Suddenly Mr. Jones was walking towards Puck, fists balled at his sides, catching exactly what the young man in front of him was implying. Just as he was near enough to throw a punch the formally inconsolable woman jumps in front of her husband shielding Puck from what she knew was not going to end well with both men seeing only red.

"Stop!" She barely whispers the words out as more tears fall from her eyes.

"He does not need to be here."

"Didn't you hear him? He saved her."

"I don't care. We don't even know him; for all we know, he could be the cause of her being in the hospital in the first place."

Mrs. Jones looks back at Puck sorrowfully then turns back to Reese determined not to move. "He is not going anywhere. He saved our daughter, and he deserves to stay. What you should be concerned about, however, is _why_ our baby girl is laying in a hospital bed unconscious, not badgering the person who apparently helped her."

Puck looked down at the small woman amazed at the strength she had mustered in that instance to defend someone she didn't know. He could tell Mrs. Jones loved her daughter and at the same time wondered what exactly her father was feeling.

"I don't agree with you; I think he should go. He is not family, but I should be trying to find out what really happened." Finishing his statement, Dr. Reese and Dr. Caren look at Puck with inquiring eyes.

"Look, um, I don't think I should be the one to tell you what happened, but I'm more than happy to get the on-call nurse so she can explain what really happened, and after that I can, uh, tell you what I know. If you want me to." The fury Puck felt at the appearing of English Girl's parents remained prevalently boiling in his blood, but it was quelled by her mother's saddened appearance.

"Thank you, for saving Merci." Caren gave Puck a weak smile and went back to Mercedes' bedside.

Mr. Jones continued glaring at the teenager as he walked out of the room to go find the nurse. Puck hoped Nurse April's shift hadn't ended because he would not want to deal with any other nurse, not in the mood that was currently stirring around him. Not right now.

As he makes his way to the nurse's station, his mind is reeling. How can someone who caused his own daughter to do something so desperate accuse me of anything? He probably doesn't even think this has anything to do with him. Prick. If she were mine, I would have never let this happen. She would know she deserved more than this. I could make her feel beautiful and wanted. He's in mid-thought when he reaches the desk and sees April. He clears his throat to get her attention. As she looks up, she smiles.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, English Gir- I mean, Mercedes' parents just got here," he says with venom dripping from his voice, "and her dad doesn't really want me around."

April can see a glimmer of sadness in his eyes beneath the obvious anger. He really does care for his girlfriend; if only I could find someone to care for me like that. Her thoughts are interrupted when Puck speaks again.

"So could you get the doctor to explain what happened because I don't think I should or that they want to hear it from me?" He gave the nurse a constrained smile trying not to look completely frustrated.

"The doctor's gone for the night, but I can tell them what happened for you, I'm sure you don't want to relive it all over again." April saw a small amount of relief creep onto Puck's face. "Tell you what, I'll go by the room; I have to do my rounds anyways." Looking at the young man April couldn't stop her heart from aching for him. To know his girlfriend attempted suicide and to watch her nearly succeed must be horrible. "Noah have you had anything else to eat since I gave you that lunch bag?" Puck shook head no. "I can bring something to the room for you, if you'd like."

"No, but thanks anyway. I'm not going back to the room for a while. Give her parents time and all." Puck was commanding his anger to remain subdued as he mentions Mercedes' parents. He still couldn't wrap his head around this situation. Breaking into his thought process nurse April makes a suggestion.

"You should get something from the cafeteria it's still open, and if you need me to, I can have it comped."

Puck gives the nurse the first real smile that he's smiled all day. She had been a godsend for him. "No thanks, I got it."

Nurse April pats him on his shoulder as he turns to walk away. She frowns thinking of Mercedes' parents and their treatment of the kind boy who saved their beautiful daughter's life. If it were her child, she knew she would have no doubt been kissing the boy's feet for what he had done for her. Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she composes herself turning around walking down the hall towards room 213.

The cafeteria was empty except for the few women who worked the late shift. They don't even acknowledge Puck as he walks into the deserted area. There were deli sandwiches as well as dishes that pose as _home cooked_. Knowing nothing he was looking at could possibly compare to what his mom cooks, he opts for a deli sandwich, ham and swiss, a pack of chips, and a bottle of water. He hurriedly eats his meal aware that the cafeteria would be closing soon, and the women working did not look like the type to take his lingering lightly. He sighs thinking of his options; going back to the room at the present was not even close to being an option he could consider. He only left 20 minutes ago and there is no way April is finished talking to Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Also, they need the time alone with their daughter, or so he thought. His mom would want to be alone with him, so he was willing to give them that much. But if they think I am just leaving them with her tonight, they have another thing coming. In an attempt to avoid English Girl's recently crowded room, the waiting room that offered images of a memory too fresh, and the hauntingly quiet halls, Puck finds himself outside on a bench at the entrance of the hospital. The night sky was clear and illuminated by a beaming full moon surrounded by twinkling stars that had never appeared as bright as they were tonight. He releases a deep breath, one Puck had no idea he was even holding. With an upturned head, his weary eyes take in the beauty before him thankful that English Girl is not numbered among the billions of stars winking at him.

Without any coercion, an intrusion of images of her lying on the floor incapacitated flash before his eyes marring the ethereal view. Following close behind those horrific scenes are the images of her on the stretcher lifeless causing him to lose his breath and drop his head into his hands. He lifts his head abruptly with a sharp intake of air that stings his lungs as the sounds of her being shocked back to life rings in his ears causing him to clench his fists fighting back the buildup in his throat. Puck chokes and his breath catches, as he is no longer able to hold back the tears that begin to flow freely emancipating the frustration, anger, and sadness that he had managed to keep contained moderately in check. Riding along the tear stream that is coursing out of Puck is acknowledgement of a new emotion; one he felt unfurling itself and growing exponentially stronger as he read the suicide letter. Until now, he hadn't had the time or the frame of mind to accede it; however, as the words that spurred this hidden emotion bombarded his mind he could no longer ignore it, and it was devouring him from within.

_You may not know me  
All I could become was NOTHING!  
I wasn't worth it  
Who would want to be seen with NOTHING?  
Invisible …to…YOU_

I saw her. I could have been there for her. Protected her somehow. Puck buries his face in his hands practically sobbing, with no regard to compose himself. She deserves the tears. The sorrow that he's feeling now. She was his classmate. They shared more than a few classes over the past couple of years, and that alone should have garnered an introduction; yet, he didn't make the effort. I should have known you; I don't know why…I'm so stupid. As the classes they accompanied together went from one to two to three, increasing each year so did his admiration for the colorful chocolate girl that smiled a toothy smile and laughed heartily. She seemed impermeable. Puck saw her get slushied and may have even been lagging at the back of the pack that purposely attacked her on a weekly basis not involving himself. He was amazed at how she never cried or showed any emotion, simply endured it, and somehow remained smiling. No, I didn't know her, but I knew her strength and her will. Her beautiful spirit.

I saw it happening. I saw the signs. Oh God! I saw her breaking right before my eyes. I saw her giving in. _All I could become was NOTHING_. NOTHING! Her happiness seeped from her; I saw it leaving. Year by year. She became nothing, and I did nothing to stop it. The smile began to wane during sophomore year. The slushing didn't stop only got worse. Before she carried on as if it didn't happen; he saw that that wasn't the case anymore. She had stopped laughing entirely, and the smile was weakened and didn't reach her eyes. The strength she once wore as a badge of courage was dwindling and so was her will. He can see her now walking down the hall with her head hanging low not daring to make eye contact with anyone she passed friend or foe. A reflection of her materializes in his mind's eye. She stands before him decimated, alive yet lifeless. She walks around in a zombielike state, there but absent all the same. It is her the day she aimed to remove herself from the world of the living trying to throw away her own precious life. It was already gone. Her life. It was already gone, and _I_ saw it.

_I wasn't worth it. _The words echo in his head. You were…are worth that and so much more. I wish I could tell her how much she deserves life. Puck rises from the bench in a fit of anger. Why didn't that deadbeat of a father of hers make sure she always felt special? Trying to calm down he decides to walk along the sidewalk, but this only serves to bolster his rage, as he was too far-gone. She would have been better off without that sad excuse for a father. His little girl was dying, and he was too busy knocking up some whore to love his daughter. OUCH! Pain shoots up Puck's arm. Ignorant of where the pain is coming from he looks at his hand to see it looking like it was placed in a grinder. Bloody knuckles alert him to the fact that he has just punched a brick wall. Hoping he didn't break anything, he painfully flexes his fingers making fists. Nothing is broken. I'm gonna kill Finn that overgrown piece of crap.

_Who would want to be seen with NOTHING? _His lungs fill with cool air as he takes a deep breath beginning to walk again. Calming a bit satisfied with the certainty that he is going to murder Finn for what he did, has done to Mercedes. If not death, he will be close enough to eternity that he wouldn't want to hurt anyone like he hurt English Girl again. He bids the tears welling into his eyes freedom to surrender themselves to paint the pavement and stain his cheeks, not caring anymore to hide his emotions from himself. Allowing himself to shed tears that others would not shed for English Girl. How could he…anyone do that. I would want to be seen with her. I wa … I'm so stupid. A stupid coward. She was there all alone and I could have been there for her, but I wasn't. Maybe…she didn't know I saw her. Watched her. Remembering foolish teenage logic, Puck recalls his justification for not talking to her. She's too smart. She likes to read, and I like to bust heads. What would we talk about? What good would I do her? Trouble follows me. We're from two different worlds. _Invisible…to…you._ I saw you. I always saw you. Puck slides down the cold stone wall he had previously assaulted sobbing frantically completely submerged in realization. His heart aches for the girl he had taken to watching from the shadows ignoring her consciously. A mental reel of his intentional ignorance runs as consecutive instances flash across the screen. She drops her books; his instincts urge him to pick them up for her; instead, he chooses to step over her books pretending to be oblivious to her presence. He bumps into her in the lunch line; she turns around wearing a smile brighter than the shine of the sun waiting for an apology or maybe an introduction; he only looks past her. He stands behind Quinn, Karofsky, Azimio, and a few other jocks. The plan is to get her before her day starts. They are seething with excitement as she comes to her locker carrying her books in her hands, before she can open her locker the purple slushy is dashed into her face ruining her white shirt and her soul. She cried that time. The only time she ever cried. The show ends with her laying in the hospital bed in room 213 the result of negligence.

The entrance doors open, and he hears footsteps nearing him; however, he continues crying madly. A body sits beside him wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Giving in he leans into the comforting arms.

"It's okay sweetie, she's going to be okay."

He tries to catch his breath to speak but the words are caught as a painful moan escapes his mouth.

"Shhh, it's okay."

After a moment, the words finally reach his lips. "I… could…h-h-have…I-I-I should have…done…s-s-something." It was all he could say. He wanted the kind woman who had regarded him so highly to know that he didn't deserve any of her accolades. He was no better than the rest.

"Noah sometimes there's nothing we can really do. You saved her that is all that matters now." April rubs his arm as he violently shakes his head. "It's okay."

"I…I should have…d-d-done something. I should have…"

"Noah, honey, it's all done now, there's nothing you can do about what has already happened. It's the past. I guess that's why they call it such because it's over and done. It can't be changed, but you can do something now. You can continue to care for her and be there for her, and listen to her. She's going to need someone now to hear her. She needs you now more than you or maybe even she knows. She needs all the support she can get, and you can't help if you're dwelling on the past." April says adopting a stern motherly tone.

"But I didn't…she needed…and I...how can I…"

"Now. Now. Everything is going to be fine. Okay?" She leans away from the boy whose crying is calming slightly and helps him up. She hands him some tissues from her pocket. "Clean yourself up before you go back inside. She's going to be alright, and you need to be looking your best for her when she wakes up." She smiles at Puck placing a hand on his face wiping away some rogue tears. "Are you going to be okay? Need me to walk you back to the room?"

Grabbing her hand removing it from his face still holding it firmly, Puck shakes his head no. He looks at her hand then looks her in her eyes. "Thank you."

"No problem." She hugs him and whispers in his ear, "I met her parents; she's lucky she has you," before walking away.

The guilt plaguing him from his inaction pierces his heart at her words. He was just as guilty as the people named in the letter. I promise things will be… I will be different from now on. Vowing to help Mercedes through this, he walks into the entrance of the hospital determined to make up for his part in robbing Mercedes' life from her. To his surprise, or maybe displeasure, he sees Mr. Jones walking toward him. The looks each man is returning the other speaks volumes, but Mr. Jones feels the need to voice his internal thoughts.

"You still here?" Although some would think a father would be happy that the person that saved his daughter's life cared enough to stick around, it annoyed Reese Jones because it meant that this person would possibly smell his family's dirty laundry.

Disgusted that this man would ask him such a thing while _leaving, _Puck retorted quickly. "You _leaving?" _Spoken with immense distaste. That ought to shut him up. And it did. Mercedes' father averts his eyes from Puck briskly walking out of the building.

Shaking his head, Puck turns away from the retreating figure and continues walking to the room. He was a mess of emotions all of which he had never expressed freely, all except maybe anger. But somehow, things were different. He was different. Today something had turned in him, almost as if being involved in the tragedy that had befallen him had changed him. Maybe not completely but changed nonetheless. It was possible he was more aware or more willing to see or perchance he was just rattled by almost watching someone die. He didn't know, but what he did know was that he would never be the same, good or bad.

Letting his mind wonder it drifted to another situation. One he was about to face waiting in the hospital room with English Girl. Her mother. Would she be welcoming, or did her brute of a husband convince her that I didn't need to be there or that I had something to do with her daughter being in the hospital? It really matters now because he wants to be there. To be there for English Girl. If her mother wasn't on his side then he would have to be there from afar, which as he has learned is the same as not being there at all. I guess I gotta find out some time. Placing his hand on the door handle, he hesitates before opening. Puck takes a deep breath gathers himself and walks in.

She is standing by the same window that Puck read the letter in front of. Mrs. Jones turns around when she hears the door opening followed by footsteps. For a moment, they just look at each other. Not sizing each other up per se, but acknowledging one another. Neither speaks as Puck surveys the room. A rollaway has been brought to the room possibly for either the mother or father. He also notices extra covers in a chair that reclines into something so uncomfortable it shouldn't even exist. His eyes stop on the beautiful teenager laying unconscious. He takes her in. The hurt she feels that forced her to beg for death. The loneliness that he could have remedied. Just looking at her breaks his heart all over again and it is all he can do not to burst into wild sobbing again. Tearing his eyes away from the painful view, he flicks a lone tear from his face as his eyes meet hers again. Only this time she gives him a smile only a mother could give. He returns it as best as he can.

"You're not leaving are you?" Caren's voice is warm and inviting. There is no underlying malice.

"If it's okay with you."

"I don't think you would leave even if it wasn't okay with me."

"Probably not." Puck smiles at her and she notices he is still standing.

"You can sit down. You're not going anywhere and there is no need for you to stand all night." They both chuckle at her joke as Puck takes a seat.

"So, Noah is it?" he nods and she continues, "I'm not quite sure how to say this; so, I guess I'll just go for it. Mercedes mentioned a little while ago about there being a guy and … is that guy you?"

"No, it's not me." He answers sullenly.

"Then you're just someone from school? Are you a friend? She's never mentioned you."

As she fires question after question at Puck, he is reminded of his mom. "I can't say that I am…a friend that is, but we've had classes together. We have classes together."

"You are not her boyfriend, and you are not her friend; so, why are you staying because you don't have to. And if you wanted me to, I would call you when she woke up. I'm sure you're mother would rather you be home tonight."

"It's okay. I spoke with her; she understands."

Silence fills the room. Caren is knowledgeable that her question hadn't been answered and doesn't think it will be, but if her instincts are right then she has a feeling of why the young man sitting beside her daughter is staying.

Looking away from Mrs. Jones, Puck hopes she didn't notice he didn't answer her question. In all truthfulness, he didn't know why he was staying. It seemed to him like he wasn't sure of much of anything anymore. He knew he wanted to be there when she woke up, but he didn't know exactly what the driving force behind the strong desire was. It could be guilt; possibly, her seeing him there when her eyes opened knowing someone was there for her, could ease the guilt he was carrying. It could be the fact that in some weird way he felt like he was her friend. That what happened tied them together on some deeper level, and it would only be befitting if she saw her rescuer when she awakened. He didn't know, nor, did he know if he wanted to know. He just knew he was going to be there when it happened. To him, that is all that mattered.

Puck falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. Flashing through his mind are the day's tragic events. This would prove to be a difficult sleep. Finally around 7am as the sun's rays reach into the room pricking his eyes, Puck gives up his quest for sleep. Awaking, he rises from his pseudo-bed, folds it back into a chair, and sits gazing at Mercedes. Waiting.

The rollaway had bed Mrs. Jones when last he closed his eyes. Now, she lay snuggled next to her little girl. This woman really loved her daughter, and Puck was having no trouble seeing this. He thought she would be a better mom if she had the guts to leave her cheating husband. Puck couldn't help but fume at the thought of English Girl's dad who, though present, was no better than his absent father.

He sat watching Mercedes and her mother sleep for two hours before Caren finally wakes up.

"Good morning." She says groggily.

"Good morning Mrs. Jones."

"Aww, you don't have to call me Mrs. Jones. We've slept together, technically, so just Caren is fine."

"Okay, but I don't think my mom would appreciate me calling you by your first name. So, I'll just stick with Mrs. Jones, if that's okay with you."

"It's okay. You're mom must be proud she raised such a good son."

"I don't know about that."

"She is. I just met you and I know you're a good kid."

"Thanks."

Caren smiles at Puck as she gets off the bed to check the time. Once she sees the time, she sits in the seat on the other side of her baby girl's bed. Feeling antsy and hungry after watching her sleeping beauty for thirty minutes, Caren gets out of her seat walking to the door. "I'm hungry and I haven't seen you eat anything since I've been here. They're serving breakfast, and I'm going to get some. Do you want me to bring you back anything? And you had better not say no because I'm going to want to bring you something even more. You need to eat."

"Since no isn't an option. Okay." Puck says smiling.

"What do you want back?"

"Anything will be fine. I'll eat whatever you bring back."

"Okay sweetie."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones."

Mrs. Jones smiles at Puck as she leaves the room.

Turning his eyes away from the door to resume looking at the still unconscious young woman, Puck's hazel eyes meet deep brown eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Puck freezes. His breath stops. He had been waiting for this moment since she was placed in her room; however, at this moment looking into her eyes he is hit with the one possibility that he dreaded. He is the only person in the room, no parents just him, and she may not want him there. In fact, Puck is pretty sure she _doesn't _want him in the room with him, as he notices the bewildered look in her eyes barely masking indignant undertones. They remain restrained, immobile, neither willing to speak. The words fading from their minds as emotions overtake all rationale. Puck rises from his seat haltingly being compelled by an invisible force. He moves his left foot toward the bed keeping eye contact, but arrests all motion as soon as Mercedes' face contorts and her eyebrows furrow. She definitely doesn't want me here. If I were her, I wouldn't want me here. I don't deserve to be here. Puck retracts his previous step dejectedly, yet he doesn't leave. Peering into her eyes he desperately wishes for the perfect words to form in his mind, only to come up with fog. Dropping his head, he sighs preparing to leave, granting her what he knows she wants, but just as he turns around, her feeble, angry voice stops him from taking another step.

"What are you doing here?" He turns around and she is scowling staring daggers directly into his eyes.

"I-"

"Wait, where am I?" Mercedes hastily cuts Puck off speaking mostly to herself and not the teenager standing in the middle of the cold white room. Mercedes looks around and observes her environment trying to grasp fully what has actually happened.

"You're at-"

"What happened?" She averts her eyes from the tan-skinned young man gazing at her. It was all too much to take in. It was seeping in but at an extremely slow rate. A dawdling whisper escapes Mercedes as she begins to cry, "Why am I here?"

Seeing the tears falling down English Girl's face Puck tries to calm her. "Hey it's okay." He walks to her bed, the previous visual attack long forgotten as he places his hand on her shoulder. She jerks away from him the instant she can feel the warmth of his skin on her body. "I'm sorry." He looks at her sobbing, and it hurts him to see her like this, unable to help her, yet, he can't help the happiness swirling inside him because even if she does hate him, at least she is alive and awake.

"I am really sorry."

The tears violently streaming down her face cease immediately as she fires a threatening glare at Puck accompanied by an aggravated snort causing him to wince. He's sorry. For what? That I'm still alive. She chooses not to lead with her thoughts; instead, she opts for her previous unanswered question. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I know you may not know who I am or even knew-know, I don't know, that I existed, but I go to McKinley-" Puck's words get caught in his throat by Mercedes' piercing brown eyes again.

There is recognition in her eyes; he could see it. She made sure he could see it. Although she was familiar with his face, she does not know him; but, she is well aware of who is standing at her bedside in her…Is this a hospital room? Refocusing her attention. This is a hospital room. What happened? "Answer me! Why are you here?"

Puck can't believe what's happening; maybe he can believe it, but he didn't in all honesty expect it. She was being mean, rightfully so, but he just envisioned things differently in his head. I guess that's what I get for thinking. I didn't think she knew me; if she does then I can understand her disposition. "Do you remember anything about yesterday?"

Thinking back, Mercedes vaguely remembers the actual events of yesterday; she definitely remembers her intentions, but she couldn't remember anything after going to the girl's bathroom. She had pills, wanted to take them, but at this moment, she couldn't bring herself to believe she had followed through. I must have done something. I must have taken the…the pills, or I wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed. Her realization would remain with her because she didn't _know_ this guy. I don't need to tell the unwanted guest anything; he should be answering my questions. I glare at him allotting him the only response I am comfortable giving and the only one he deserves. I am the one who needs the answers not the other way around.

Noticing English Girl's increasing irritation toward him Puck takes the lead. "Okay, so I guess it's on me. Well…as for why I'm here, I didn't want to leave."

Mercedes narrows her eyes intensifying her glare at Puck. Her tolerance towards him is waning, and she doesn't know how much more of this she can take. She wasn't getting any answers from him, which was causing her anger to boil over. Puck needed to answer her or she was going to lose it. "What are _you_ doing here?" With each passing moment, Mercedes found her agitation kindling. The necessity to know what had happened to her and why someone such as the likes of Puck was with her alone was becoming unbearable. Where are my parents? I bet they haven't even noticed my absence. Typical. Mercedes' train of thought is interrupted as Puck speaks again.

"Alright English Girl, I didn't want to be the one to tell you, really I didn't. And I think you should wait for your mom-"

Mercedes looks askant at the boy standing at her bedside. Did he just call me _English Girl_? "No, I want to know why you're here."

"Okay." He thought it best Mercedes wait for her mother to tell her what the doctor has told her, but he couldn't deny her the right to the truth that he knew. Although he should be resigned to silence given her current attitude, looking at her scowling and being quite defensive he couldn't stop his heart from hurting for her. "Okay…well…yesterday after school I was…" Puck didn't really want her to know his real reason for going to the girl's restroom; so, he skirts the issue, "I found you lying in the girl's bathroom sprawled across the floor…" As he speaks, the pain of thinking English Girl was dead stabs him in his heart causing tears to surface in his eyes, a lone tear escaping. He quickly swipes at his eyes hoping the angry girl didn't see the tear. He continues relaying the events his voice cracking slightly. "You were…passed out…I thought…I um…thought you were…dead." I take a breath trying to compose myself, but failing miserably as I hear myself sniffle. She looks up at me tears beginning to glaze her eyes. I can't imagine what she's feeling, but if her countenance is any indication, there's a lot going on in her head. "I tried to revive you, CPR, but …nothing was working, so, I called for help, an ambulance…I…your pulse was barely there…" Puck's eyes never leaving hers observes the sorrow that washes over her face as the tears she previously suppressed break free streaming from her morose eyes down her cheeks. "I don't have to go on if you don't-"

"No. Don't stop." I don't know why, but I need him to finish.

Wanting this to be over as quickly for her, Puck goes as fast as possible without confusing Mercedes. "I kept trying to bring you back, but you weren't responding. The ambulance showed up within about ten minutes; I was so relieved I didn't know how much time you had. I rode here with you in the ambulance. When they got you back…you crashed at one point and they had to revive you." Puck clears his throat to continue, but Mercedes speaks instead.

"I died?" She says in between sobs.

Puck's heart breaks hearing the apparent fear in her voice laced with disappointment. "Only for a little while. They saved you. They told me they had to pump your stomach. That it was…it…was…pills." I look at the floor avoiding her gaze for the first time since we started talking not wanting to meet her eyes. I don't want to see the embarrassment and regret I am sure will be there. He scolds himself mentally fearing that he shouldn't have told her all of this. He didn't want to, but she had insisted, and now he wished he hadn't.

Mercedes eyes don't leave Pucks standing form, even as he looks down that simple act informing her of his knowledge of her actions. He knows. I tried to kill myself, failed, and he knows. I should have known, given my luck. I begin to sob more fiercely as the impact of everything breaks past my ribcage clenching my heart. I feel…I don't what I feel. Happy? I'm not dead, but that's what I wanted? Scared? What does life have to offer me that I haven't experienced already? What will my parents think? Angry? Yes, I am definitely angry. I don't want him here. He shouldn't be here. He's no better than the others, so what if he never actually physically did anything to me, but he was there. I saw him stand cowardly behind the pack looking like…almost like he looks now. Sorrowful? As my thoughts take a turn I find it hard to fully commit to the anger seething inside of me. I don't know what it is, but there's something about him that I want to place, yet, can't.

After a long silence, Puck finally lifts his head to look at the broken teenager before him. He wants to comfort her, be there for her, do what nurse April told him to do, be strong for her; but in this moment he knows he can't, if he tried she wouldn't let him. He knows he is no better. Even if she doesn't say it, he can see it in her eyes more than anything else that may be there. Puck stands gazing at her, letting his guilt consume him under the scrutiny of her glare. He deserved nothing less than the shame ravaging him because he was a part of the tears marring her face. They spoke to him, taunting, reminding him of his failure.

"Is there more?" Speaking barely above a whisper, Mercedes still manages to pull Puck from his thoughts. He realizes that her scornful gaze has softened.

"More what?"

Trying to suppress her tears and stifle her sobbing, Mercedes' voice breaks. "More…did…any…anything else…hap…happen."

"They kept you for a while to make sure you were okay. Then they moved you into here. You've been here since yesterday before six." Puck doesn't see a need to tell her about the suicide watch.

A quick intake of break and Mercedes stops breathing. Where are my parents? I've been here since yesterday and my parents haven't shown. No wonder this…he is here, he feels sorry for me. I'm so pathetic my own parents don't even care that I tried to…Dad is probably too embarrassed about it to come, while Mom is probably somewhere passed out. Still someone other than _him_ has to know I'm here. Maybe contacted my parents. Oh God! What if they don't know? What if he is the only one who knows? I feel my head spinning, and I release a breath I had forgotten I was holding. "Why are you here?" This time the question is void of any anger possessing only anxiety and fear.

Not this question again. Why can't she just accept that I'm here? Puck looks at her closely examining her face trying to grasp her reasoning for asking the question once again. After a deeper look, he notices her weakened features. He decides to take a different approach, complete honesty. "I didn't want…I couldn't leave you until you woke up. I needed to know you were going to be okay. That you_ are_ okay."

"Why do you care?" An eerie chuckle darts in between the slowly fading tears.

"Huh?" What did I do now? This chick's about as unstable as _Sybil_.

"You heard me. You think I don't know who you are."

Puck looks at English girl perfectly confused. He looks at her as she furiously swipes at the tears being attacked by her angry hands.

"I know who you are. I've seen you around. You wanted, no, was that 'needed' to know I was okay." She shakes her head the words sickening her as they roll off of her tongue and cross her lips. "Well, I'm okay. I am **JUST** fine. You've fulfilled your _obligation_ you are free to go." Resentful tears fall down her face as her heart hardens in response to her quaking soul. I can't believe this jerk. He doesn't care about me. He can't care about me. I saw him. I always saw him. When he passed me in the hallway at the back of the pack not daring to look me in my slushied face, when he averted his eyes from me in class. I definitely saw him. The coward. I would have more respect for him if he were the leader; at least he wouldn't be standing here lying to me now. He stands only feet away from my hospital bed too afraid to approach me. Yeah he's a big coward. She rolls her eyes in his direction peering menacingly at him. Where was all the care when his friends bullied and humiliated me? Her anger fizzles into sudden sadness. "You don't care…no one cares."

"I-" Those eyes seem to keep me from saying what I need to say to make her understand. Her piercing brown eyes hauntingly place a hand over my mouth stopping me from comforting her; reassuring her that someone sees her. Cares?

Mercedes' eyes dare the coward to say those words. Words he could not mean. I don't need his hollow semantics. False proclamations that would lure my lonely fractured heart into believing lies. God, why didn't I die? I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here alone and forgotten. Fresh tears break free from her hold plummeting from her eyes hoping to relieve some of her hurt and pain. She throws her head back onto the pillow letting her heavy lids fall over her bloodshot eyes as the tears continue to tumble over her cheeks.

Puck closes his eyes, takes a step toward the weeping girl, stopping only to gain the courage it's going to take him to make the three feet journey to reach her.

Two feet down and one more to go. She doesn't move, no longer acknowledging his presence. I can do this. I have to do this. She needs me because she doesn't have anyone else. They all left or betrayed her. I won't leave. I will never leave. When Puck opens his eyes his knees are touching the side of the bed. He places his hand on top of English Girl's soft hand gripping it firmly as she attempts to rip her hand from his. He takes a deep breath releasing it in a sigh.

"I care."

It is barely a whisper, but she hears it, not that she believes him, and it only fuels her crying more. She doesn't have the energy to continue fighting. Mercedes wants to, but being alive and alone with a person she only knows by face is too much to handle; so, she lets him talk not caring what he says. It doesn't matter what he says, he doesn't mean it. No one ever means what they say to me.

"I know…I mean, how can I…I don't really know you. Right? But I swear I do…care…and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for why you recognize me. God, I'm sorry for where you recognize me from. I…it's…"Puck can't find the words. They all seem so menial. How could he make her understand that he wanted to be there for her, that he deserves a chance to be there for her. Apologies would only work so much. I'm sure she's heard a million of them only to be let down. Apologies mean nothing. Lowering his head, Puck closes his eyes. Just thinking.

"Your favorite color is purple. You always wear purple in some small way. You're the smartest person I know, and I know that doesn't mean a lot coming from me considering the company I keep, but it's really true. You are really smart, and you light up when you are called on to answer questions in class. It's like it's your time to shine, and it makes you happy. I don't know anyone like that except you. The last time I heard you laugh, I mean really laugh, was during freshman year, and your smile, the one that shows nearly all of your teeth, disappeared completely during sophomore year. You're a doodler, creating weird shapes and designs on your paper in math, your least favorite subject. How do I know? You never doodle in any of the other classes I have with you. You're really strong. I don't think you know how strong you are, and it may not seem like it now, but it's there…your strength.

"I know I'm the last person on Earth that you want here right now, but I don't plan on going anywhere. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not. I'm going to be here. Even if you try to kick me out, I'm gonna keep coming back. Because I want to be here…for you." You deserve that much from me. As Puck spoke his head remained bowed with his eyes closed refusing to open them for fear of seeing disdain staring back at him.

"So let me be there for you."

Her hand flexes but relaxes just as quickly as the act was initiated. Did she just squeeze my hand? Puck opens his eyes, lifting his head to look at English Girl. His mind is filled with countless worries. What if it was just a nervous reaction or anger? When my eyes finally rest upon Mercedes' face, I see her eyes have dried. Her swollen puffy red eyes are looking past me. She doesn't want me here. He releases her hand backing away slowly. She can't stand to even look at me now. Maybe I should leave. Before I can turn around and exit Mrs. Jones runs past me engulfing her daughter in a crushing embrace.

I step back farther to give them some space. I should probably leave the room entirely, but I can't bring myself to turn away from the scene in front of me. Mercedes' mom is kissing her daughter whispering affirmations of her love and telling her how sorry she is.

"Mercedes I am so, so sorry baby. It's all my fault. I wasn't there for you too busy worrying about…oh never mind. I'm just completely sorry you had to go through this. Baby Girl, I love you so much." Caren speaks in between kisses, hugs, and sobs, wetting her daughter's hospital gown as tears pour out of her eyes. "I will be better. I promise I will make this up to you, sweetie, I promise."

English Girl doesn't speak one word as she sobs silently. She hadn't even looked at her mother during her entire speech. I don't know if she is happy or upset, but I am definitely sure that her mom loves her a lot. Puck watches the mother and daughter for nearly five minutes before Mercedes says anything.

"It's okay mom." Her voices is dry, void of any emotion and her tears have dissipated. The tone of her voice goes unrecognized by her mother.

"No it's not Merci. It's not okay. I failed you as a mother, and I promise you I will not fail you anymore. I love you Baby Girl, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

Puck finds himself blinking back tears listening to Mrs. Jones' sincere apologies but notices that Mercedes does not respond to anything her mother has said. Her mother is apologizing showering her daughter in hugs and kisses, when the door opens and Mercedes' father walks in.

Upon seeing Puck in the room Reese begins yelling. "Caren why is he still here!" Reese Jones doesn't give his wife time to answer before he is in Puck's face. "Leave! I want to talk to my family. You have no right to be here and if you don't leave immediately I will have security come and haul your sorry butt out of here!"

Puck didn't want to act inappropriately in front of Mrs. Jones. He had almost lost his cool with Dr. Reese the first time he met him, but right now he didn't too much care how out of line he became because at this very moment all he could see was red and English Girl laying unconscious on the girl's bathroom floor.

He matches Reese's steps toward him with a step of his own.

"Mr. Jones, your daughter is **AWAKE**, but you don't have time to notice because you're too busy worrying about my 'sorry butt' that has been here for **YOUR** daughter! And where have you been? Huh? You haven't been here. You know Reese, you can talk to _your_ family. It seems you need that time considering you have been here, oh, about five minutes since you found out about _your_ daughter. So don't worry. I'm leaving!"

Puck backs away from Mr. Jones, looks over at Mercedes and her mother, smiles at them, "I'm sorry Mercedes," and walks to the door desperately wanting to punch English Girl's dead beat liar of a father in his smug face. He opens the door stepping into the hallway and just as he is closing the door he hears someone speak.

"Wait."

**Sorry this was so late, I have issues I know. I'm starting to think that I have some type of attention problem because when I start to write I can't focus for crap. But hey what can I say. **

**Well I hope you liked and Review or not it's up to you. **

**Chapter 7 has to be rewritten so I won't say how soon or late that will be posted and for those of you reading my other fics I haven't forgotten them it's just been easier with this one so I have been focusing on this one but they will be completed in their entirety even if it take me forever. **

**So yeah thanks for reading. **

**Nakala **


	7. Chapter 7

Mercedes watches as Puck walks to the door an inexplicable force tugging at her being in his direction. She couldn't reconcile her conflicting emotions. On one hand, she detests his presence in her hospital room, yet, at the same time she desperately needs him to stay. Maybe it was because she didn't want to be left alone with her insufferable parents when tensions were running so high, or it was possibly attributed to some indefinable reaction to him she was experiencing because he seemed to be the only person focusing on her for the moment. Whatever it is my dad has no right to decide what is best for me. Not that it's really about me. I can't believe my dad. He's such a jerk. This guy is here for me; or, I think he's here for me. I don't know. If I believe anything he said before Mom came bursting in here then he is definitely here for me. I hate this. I hate all of this. My dad being a first-class, dirt monger and my mom being the _doting mother _all of a sudden_,_ and this guy-what's his name…Nate…no, what do they call him…Noel…Noah? Noah Puck? I don't know, but I am definitely sure I don't want him here, especially not with all of this going on. Well not completely sure, but I mean I don't really know him, and although him being here is better than him not being here, I'm not sure if he needs to be here. I look at my dad looking at my mother with a smug look on his face. He always has to get what he wants. It has always been that way even when their relationship wasn't so messed up.

Her eyes still trained on his retreating back, Mercedes admired his audacity. She was proud that he had stood up to her father; she had never witnessed anyone stand up to her father for anything. Narrowing her eyes at her father, Mercedes recognizes the inception of hatred simmering within. He didn't have to always be so cruel. I feel Mom rubbing my hair jerking my attention immediately from father dearest to her nimble fingers grazing my scalp, and my mind begins reeling. She hasn't done this since I was 10 and she and Dad were happy. I just wish they would just leave. I don't need mom, the wino, placating her negligence or my absentee daddy making roll call. But I'm not quite ready for _him_ to go just yet.

"Wait!" I barely get the anxiety ridden word out of my mouth as the door is about to close, and before I am about to succumb to defeat I see the door stall.

Puck's hand halts on the knob. He can't believe his ears, literally. Did she just tell me to wait? Does she want me to stay? Was she even talking to me?

Chancing a glance at the door, Mercedes notices the door has not yet closed. She visually implores her mother, cursing her diminished energy, to do something she couldn't find the strength to do. Gazing into her daughter's forlorn eyes her heart breaks with realization. Mrs. Jones couldn't conceptualize the bond between the teenagers: she wasn't even sure they actually knew each other, from what Noah had told her she was sure they weren't close friends. However, she knew that what her precious daughter needed was someone who would be there for her. Something she wasn't confident her baby girl would allow her to do. Caren seeing the need in Mercedes' doe-eyed expression calls out to the boy being forced from the one place she knew he wanted to be.

"Noah, wait. Come back. Mer-" before Mrs. Jones can finish her name; Mercedes pokes her mother in the side. "I mean, you don't have to leave." Looking at her daughter Caren lips _I'm sorry_ as Puck re-enters the room.

"Are you kidding me?"

"What Reese? What's the problem?"

"You mean to tell me that you want this boy here? We need to talk to _our_ daughter about what's going on with her, and you want this outsider here for that." Mr. Jones' voice was steadily rising as the vein in his forehead bulged. He couldn't believe his wife.

"Look, he wants to be here and…" Caren trails off not wanting to embarrass her daughter.

"I want him to be here." Mercedes voice is barely a whisper as she speaks. She doesn't know when it happened, but somewhere between his argument with her father and him walking out of the door, she felt the absence of his presence unsettling.

"Bambi, you don't know what you want. You tried to kill yourself for Christ's sake." Reese's tone of voice embodies a gentleness Mercedes only holds in memory from her childhood despite his biting words.

"Reese!"

"No, Caren! I have some things I want to say to Bambi and I don't want him here."

Tears augment Mercedes eyes as she sees her mother lower her head in defeat. This is how it always was. He would yell and scream and she would give into his every demand. She doesn't know if it was always like this for them; for she vaguely remembers a time when she was a toddler of them being the best parents she could have ever had. Yet, all too vivid is her memory of the scene playing out before her now. Different scenario, same outcome. Things would never change with them. Mom was always weak when it came to Dad, even when things were good, but I am not her. I don't want to be her. I may have been her before…before this. I don't think I knew how to be anyone else, it just seemed easier than fighting all the time. I wasn't worth fighting for, and Mom was the perfect example for self-esteem. But now, after this, I don't want to be her. I know I don't want to be her, to be me anymore. Not that I know who I want to be, but one person I will not be is my mom.

"I want him to stay Daddy" Mercedes' feeble utterance virtually mute. She had never spoken up to her father, had never seen it done until Puck.

"Bambi, he can't stay." His voice softens even more than before at the site of his daughter crying. Sure, he wanted to yell. To scream at his daughter for her lack of tact, but she was his Bambi and he couldn't stand to see her like this.

"But it's my room, and he's been…" she takes a deep breath releasing it in a huff, "he saved my life, Daddy, and I think…if he wants to be here…then he can stay." I chance a glance in Noah's direction, but he's not looking up. His head is hanging down, probably uncomfortable with the palpable tension bumbling around in her hospital room.

"Fine. Fine. If that's what you want." Her father throws up his hands in defeat. He wanted to do this without embarrassing his daughter. To talk about the elephant in the room without _him _being there. Despite what she thought, he loved her. She's his Bambi. Sure, he hasn't been around her much in the past few years, and it wasn't because he didn't love her; it was just that he couldn't stand to be around her. She was so much like her mother. It infuriated him that his beautiful daughter could turn out like her. He lightly treads to her bedside. He didn't want to do it, but he needed answers. Reese doesn't look his daughter in her eyes as he speaks because he knows this is going to hurt and possibly be the most uncomfortable situation either he or his daughter would be a part of. "Why did you do it?"

"Huh." Mercedes can't believe her ears.

"I said, why did you do it." There is an edge to Mercedes' father's voice that is all too familiar to her. She braces herself because if she was right, which she often was, he was about to lay into her with an unbridled tongue.

I look into my daddy's emotion filled eyes beseeching him not to go _there_. It isn't only that Noah is in the room, but she really doesn't want to talk about that at all, especially with him. "Daddy, please."

"No. I'm sorry, but you wanted _him _to stay. How could you be so…so stupid? Suicide? Why would you be so selfish? How could you leave your mother and me?" Feeling tears well up in his eyes, Reese tries to force them back. He doesn't cry. But he was hurt and scared for his daughter, but he won't cry now in front of her, but later when he is alone he will definitely cry. Guilt bombards his heart, maybe it _is_ his fault. That couldn't be possible, so, he fists it away with his present anger. Anger to mask the guilt scourging his insides. "Bambi you have a great life, you're mom and I provide for you well. Most people would kill to have your life; shoot, I would kill to have your life, and here you are trying to kill yourself. Bambi, why would you do such a thing?" Reese was angry with his daughter. He couldn't grasp why someone who has as much as she does would attempt to take her life. If things were so bad she should have told someone.

"Answer me, Mercedes!"

"Reese!"

"Shut up Caren. I'm talking."

"No! I will not let you talk to _my _baby; not like that! Not right now!" Caren says practically screaming.

"Okay. I won't say anything else to _our_ daughter, but you… you and I need to talk. Now." Dr. Jones walks out of the room with Dr. Caren trailing closely behind him, after giving Mercedes a quick peck on the forehead.

The two occupying the hospital room remain silent, except for the quietly sobbing Mercedes. Puck finally ventures a glance at the girl in the hospital bed, and what he sees breaks his heart. Here she is alive. Alive for heaven's sake and her father is only thinking about himself. He should be glad _his_ daughter didn't succeed in murdering herself, but he's angry. What a douche. English Girl has stopped making sounds; probably because she finally realizes that I'm still in the room. I don't know if I should or if she wants me to, but I walk over to her bed. I stand there briefly debating my next move, but just as I am about to back away, she sniffles.

She braces herself as the sobs threaten to overtake her body; however, before her first tear can spill onto her cheek his arms encase her. Mercedes instinctively jerks from his grasp but not his arms. He is holding her too tightly for her to escape the unavoidable warmth of his arms. She glares daggers into his eyes. What is he doing? Mercedes attempts to move again causing him to secure his loosened hold.

"I don't know if you believed me when I said it, but I'm not going nowhere. So just…" Puck motions for her to lean on his shoulder. This may be harder than I thought.

She tries to resist, but her body begins to tremble as the torrent of pain jostling inside of her compels her to oblige his offer. She loses it completely.

I feel her totally break down. I feel the burdens she's been carrying fall on my shoulders and I know I have to haul them with her. I see her mom come to the door, but turns around and walks away wearing a teary smile. After nearly 5 minutes of pure gut wrenching weeping, she looks up at Puck and tries to speak. The words are in audible, but the look in her eyes is unmistakable. An apology? She wants to apologize to me?

"Shhh. It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay."

Mercedes closes her eyes resting her head on his chest. Nothing is ever okay. This…me…will never be okay. Just as I finally calm down the door opens and a doctor walks in. Just great.

"Miss Jones, you're awake. Where are your parents? I would like for them to be here for this."

She doesn't look up at the doctor. Mercedes doesn't even acknowledge his presence. Puck notices and speaks for her.

"They are out. They said something about needing to talk."

"Okay, well, I am glad you are doing better Miss Jones. I am Dr. Keyes; I don't know if you have had a chance to talk with your parents, but I would like to go over what happened and what is going to happen next." The doctor looks intently at the distant teenager. She is clearly awake and purposely ignoring him. This troubles him deeply. The young man holding the patient nods as if to tell the doctor to continue. "You were brought in yesterday for an overdose. You flat lined and needed resuscitation. They pumped your stomach to rid it of the toxic contents. You have been out of it since then. Now that you are awake, I will send a nurse in to check your vitals and order you something to eat. You will be held here for observation for a few more days, two at the most, for observation. I will be back later to speak with your parents. For now just try to get some rest and eat something."

Dr. Keyes leaves the room and within minutes, the nurse arrives. She tries to engage Mercedes in conversation, lighten the mood, but Mercedes blankly stares past her. Seeing that that wasn't working, she gives up resorting to only doing her job nothing more, nothing less.

The food arrives quicker than expected, and I try to urge her to eat but she refuses simply laying her head on my chest crying silently. So, I scoot back a little so that my back is resting on the headboard with English Girl settled comfortably on my chest. I hold her like this until she falls asleep, and even then, I don't let go. I don't want to disturb her. Today has been tough; what should have been a happy moment turned into an anger fest directed at her all too quickly. This feels right to Puck for an indiscernible reason, aside from the fact that she allowed him literally to be her shoulder to cry on. He was acutely aware of the fact that she may merely be choosing the lesser of two evils. There was her mother who, although he knew she would forgive, she wouldn't bring herself to take comfort in her consoling because of her anger; while there was Puck who was semi-neutral. He hadn't directly contributed to her problems, though he believed differently, thus, his shoulder was the best choice. He found himself grateful for the opportunity to do as he promised. Be there.

They both remain as they are for at least a couple of hours. Puck gently caresses Mercedes' hair while she lay perched on his chest quietly snoring. She looks peaceful, despite all that she has been through over the past 24 hours, and it makes Puck's lips curl into a smile. Because even though she is asleep and turmoil is swirling all around her, her inner strength, her essence still shines through. Lost in her aura, Puck barely notices his cell phone ringing. When he does it's too late. Mercedes is already waking. He gently slides off the bed signaling to her that he has to take the call. "It's my mom." He attempts to walk away but she grabs his hand.

I don't know why I grab his hand. All I know is as soon as he moves away from me the peaceful calm I am feeling is washed away by an inexorable agony. I squeeze his hand when he tries to pull away begging him to just maintain contact. I see in his eyes that he really wants to talk to his mother in private, but I'm selfish; I can't let go. Relief floods her when he turns his back to her with her hand still in his. Loosing herself in the warmth of his touch, she doesn't realize when he has finished talking to his mom.

"Love you too Mom."

He turns around, without releasing her hand, to face English Girl who is lying on her back with her eyes closed. She is not sleep because she isn't doing that slight snore thing she was doing before. He continues to stand there just looking at her. Puck inadvertently rubs his thumb along her knuckles shocking Mercedes causing her eyes to flicker open casting a questioningly glare at Puck. Noticing she still hasn't let go of his hand, he decides to ignore her instead because there are questions he can't answer, at least not right now. Nudging her over, he sits down beside her on the bed. Almost as if it was her second nature, Mercedes places her head on his shoulder.

"My mom says that I have to go home tonight. I don't want to, but she says I need to shower, eat, go to school. Whatever. She's coming to pick me up in a little while. If your mom isn't back when she gets here, I'll tell her to wait for me until your mom does show up." Puck waits for her response, but only gets a nod. The teenager becomes frustrated with the beautiful girl resting beside him. Mercedes hasn't spoken since her butthole of a father snapped on her. She has to talk to me. I don't like seeing her like this completely defeated, at least before there was enough fire in her to attack me. With firm resolve, Puck tucks his index finger under Mercedes' chin forcing her to look him in his eyes.

"Look I know today has been pretty shoddy, but you can't not talk. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want to talk either, and I'm not sayin' you gotta spill your guts to me or nothing, just acknowledge that you're being talked to. You can't just ignore people; especially me." A wry smile quirks onto Puck's face. "I don't think it's a good look. And you don't have to say much, a simple okay would suffice."

For the first time in a long time, a smile forms on Mercedes' face, albeit a very battered version of the original, but a smile nonetheless. "Okay."

"See that wasn't too hard." Puck beams as he soaks in the reward of progression. They settle into companionable silence, which only lasts for ten minutes before the entrance of English Girl's mom coinciding with the disturbingly loud sound of his phone. The sudden intrusion jolts both teenagers causing Puck to release Mercedes' hand jumping out of the bed as if he had just been caught doing naughty things with Mrs. Jones' daughter. Upon noticing the instant acrimonious expression embedded on Mercedes' face, he mouths 'sorry,' which seems to work.

"Mrs. Jones, uh, I, uh, you're back?"

"Yes I am. And you're still here? Don't you need to get some sleep or take a shower?"

"You sound like my mom. I don't think so, but Mom seems to, so, I'll be leaving soon. She just texted me. She's outside, but I want to say bye first."

"Okay, sweetie, do you want me to leave?"

"Naw, you don't have to."

Puck looks at Mercedes who is staring at him in the oddest way. He walks over to the bed to get closer to her, and once he reaches the bed he hears the door close behind him. She must have wanted to give us privacy. Why would she think we needed privacy? Unconsciously Puck finds his hand wrapped around the impossibly soft hand of whom he thinks may become his first real friend. She doesn't flinch this time and that very fact reassures him that he is in the right place, doing the right thing.

"So, I gotta go 'cause my mom is missing me and says I gotta come home. Something about eating or something." There's that smile again. "I'll be back tomorrow after school though." My phone vibrates. Dang Mom, I'm coming; give me a minute. "Well my mom won't let up, so, um, see you later."

Mercedes doesn't say anything to me, so, I roll my eyes and give her hand a squeeze and head towards the door. I guess she noted my frustration because before I make it to the door…

"Bye, Noah, see you tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 8

**Straight out the gate I gotta say that I AM SO SORRY for waiting so long to update to those of you that are still with me. I also want to thank those who reviewed the last chapter. **

**The Reader, Moonlight015 thanks for your many reviews it gave me the motivation to finish this chapter and get off my butt and put thought to paper or computer in some cases THANKS A MIL, Erica I'm not going to discontinue this fic ever. It's done in my head and in my outline so it will be completed eventually, Mad-like, Mad Hatter Helsing, emzjuk, MorgansBabyGrl, Princess976, AnniKay, Isis Aurora Tomoe, Hazel08**

**Thanks to all who alerted and favorited I really enjoy those too. **

Mercedes lay in bed entirely exhausted. She's only just woken up from a night's sleep an hour ago, and only come to from her slight coma 17 hours ago; yet, life had managed to pack _all_ of her past and present stresses on her shoulders. The young woman wanted nothing more than to retreat within herself, hibernating until she could figure it all out. There was too much going on in her head, and even more going on around her. Times always had an air of difficulty about them; her being a fat black girl growing up in Lima, Ohio, but when she was younger, she at least had her mother and father to go home to. Now they were the problem.

Mom hasn't left since yesterday. She really has no idea how much I just want her to go, but I guess guilt is a huge motivator because she hasn't been there for me in quite a few years. It wouldn't anger me so, if she would lay off on the overcompensating. I love my mother, I do; yet, the hatred that has matured over the last couple of years takes precedence. I can't give her the acceptance and forgiveness she seeks simply because she didn't mean to.

I should have been more important to her than her need to drown her sorrows in a bottle of vodka. But I wasn't. And I don't need to be now. I'm too broken to try to fix things for her. It should be the other way around.

Caren sits in the chair, formerly occupied by Puck, fast asleep. She had sat ever vigilant at her daughter's bedside praying for forgiveness from God, as well as her sleeping daughter. She is consumed with grief and stricken with guilt. A guilt that no parent should feel. She had let her daughter down and no matter how desperately she wanted to fix it she knew her daughter, and despite her current predicament, Caren knows that Mercedes is not going to forgive her so easily for letting things get this far. She is her mother. In Mercedes' eyes, mothers are supposed to prevent their daughters from becoming anything less than what they were destined to be, and here her mother has allowed her to become nothing more than a suicidal failure.

Waking to observe her daughter, Caren sees the defeat that taints her baby's beautiful face and a part of her breaks irrevocably. This was all her fault. Mrs. Jones finally knows that the shell of a person lying before her immersed in despair shutting herself off from the world of oppression imposed upon her is all her doing. Had she been a better mother, and not been moronically preoccupied with Reese's extracurricular activities, she may have seen that her daughter was dying from the inside out. But, she was weak; Caren was always weak. It should have been second nature to her to step in and be the woman and mother that Mercedes needed her to be; yet, the embarrassment and anguish engulfed her. Even she, a grown, successful woman, a doctor, couldn't prevent herself from feeling inadequate. Her only option was to forget that she wasn't enough for the only man that she had ever loved. The only man that she had ever wanted to love. Only then could she function, though, at a fraction of the person she was. The alcohol dulled her senses. She didn't want to feel. If she were to be anything: a mother, a wife, alive, then she couldn't allow herself to feel. It was all too consuming, and she feared that she would give up if she couldn't drink her cares away, not realizing that she had already given up.

She desperately wishes that things were different. That she could somehow take Mercedes' place, trading beauty for ashes. Her daughter deserves someone more than what she has been.

Tears surge from Caren's already inflamed, crimson eyes as she sobs silently vowing that she will not permit herself to continue being a drunken, negligent mother. No matter how hard Mercedes pushes her back, she would push harder. Smiling through the tears, she feels a resolve to become the mother she once was burgeoning within her. And she would do it all without Reese.

Mercedes hears the faint sound of a sniffle, which causes her to peel open her eyelids reluctantly. This is exactly what she did not want to deal with. Her mother's self-pity. It was bad enough that she was monumentally mixed up in her own head, trying to process whatever was going on with Noah, and struggling to handle the repercussions of a failed suicide attempt, but having to be privy to her mother's public sorrow was more than she was willing to cope with.

Staring at her mother from her supine position on the bed, the wounded girl feigns sleep, as not to alert her wayward mother to her current awake status for fear that she would immediately rush to her side. As a child, Mercedes remembers her predilection for her mother's touch. Whenever she came home from school on her most tortuous of days, the first thing she would do was sprint into her mom's open arms burying her face into her stomach. They would sit on the couch together as her mother held her securely rubbing her back while she cried. It was days like this that gave her the strength to go on. Just knowing that my mother would always be there with the love and acceptance the others withheld, I could fight to keep my sanity because I had her. Yet, rage oozes through her veins heating her from the inside out with a mere thought of feeling the deceptively caring caress of her mother's culpable mitt. Her contemptible touch comparable to that of Judas Iscariot, except no money was bartered for a life, but liquor and a good night's sleep.

I snatch my eyes from my mother wishing I didn't hold such antipathy towards her. She is my mother and had once been the best mother I could have ever asked for. However, the teenager's stance that her mother is to blame for her lying in a hospital bed fresh from attempted suicide precludes her desire to be the little girl she used to be and allow her mother to make things better. How is it that I don't feel the same with Noah? Hadn't he indirectly reinforced my faltering mental state? He_ had_ watched me suffer without even uttering a word. I watched him ignore me for years, but I'm willing to accept the consoling he _wants_ to give.

Mercedes had been musing over this apparent contradiction since she felt herself giving into the heartfelt words Noah had forced her to listen to yesterday. Though it may not be evident to Puck or Mrs. Jones, the fact that each had contrasting motives for why they desired to be there for her was not lost on Mercedes. Although, she did not know Puck in the literal sense, she knew people and the conviction in his voice as he declared that he was going to be there for her rang in her soul. She couldn't deny, try as she might, the validity of his contrition. The obvious bounced around in her head incessantly. Not once had he mentioned himself in all he said, aside for being sorry. Sure, maybe there was some part of him that was being selfish; attempting to make atonement for his misdeeds; however, that wasn't his sole focus. Noah's solitary attention was on helping me, while my mother was too busy feeling sorry for herself. On the surface, it would appear that her bellyaching is all for me, but once you venture to look further into her psyche you would see that her professions are for only her benefit. My mother didn't want to be there for me, _for me_, but to appease her guilt. I know exactly what she's thinking: 'How did _I _let this happen. I'm going to make this up to her.' I can attest to the reality that a small part of my mother's distress is because I am lying in the hospital recovering from trying to murder myself, but for the most part, she is utterly stricken with grief because _she_ failed. I'm not heartless; I understand that as a parent, these are thoughts that arise, but for once, I just want it to be about _me_ and what I'm going through and not her.

Everything jostling around in her mind, both good and bad, causes Mercedes' head to throb violently; the physical pain manifesting in morbid ruminations. If I weren't here, there would be no pain, no problems to deal with. Eyes brimming with tears close to block out the world. If I were dead, I wouldn't need to forget the past few years, or wonder about _him _and his role in this mess I've caused_. _Should I even be wondering about him? Why am I wondering about him? How am I to go on after this? Things are going to be much harder now. Teetering on the edge of insanity, Mercedes welcomes the reprieve as tears topple from her lidded eyes. No sound is made as she laments her lost chance at life beyond and what is to come, as the tears trickle down the side of her head pooling on the pillow.

As Mercedes lies in a seemingly catatonic state, the door opens and the morning shift nurse enters. She looks over at the poor child, sadness welling inside of her, noticing the wet pillow and the continuous flow of tears streaming from puffy eyes. The nurse checks Mercedes' chart and proceeds to check her vitals.

"Hello, Mercedes, I'm Traci, and I'm here to take your vital signs. Okay?"

Traci reaches for the cuff to measure Mercedes' blood pressure expecting a response from her, but receives none. Sitting in the chair beside Mercedes is her mother who is dozing; realizing that communicating with the suicidal teenager is not going to be fruitful, she wakens the mother to talk to her.

"Mrs. Jones, Hi, I'm Traci, I'm going to be Mercedes' nurse for the next few hours. Right now, I'm going to take her vitals and see if she's feeling okay or if she needs anything."

"Okay." Sounding groggy.

"So has she mentioned feeling ill or anything? Sometimes after having your stomach pumped you don't feel well. And I see in her chart that she coded."

"No. She hasn't said anything. I assume she's not feeling anything physically."

"Okay." Traci takes Mercedes' blood pressure and makes a few notes in Mercedes' chart.

"Also, Mrs. Jones, if you need anything or if Mercedes needs anything just push the call button and I'll see what I can do."

"Okay, thank you."

Shortly after Traci leaves the room, an orderly drops off a tray of breakfast for Mercedes.

Caren glances towards Mercedes as she shakes off the remnants of her brief nap. Before the nurse arrived, she had fallen asleep staring at her daughter hoping that she would awaken for her to speak with her. However, that had not happened, and focusing her eyes on her baby girl, Caren notices the moisture around her eyes. She couldn't be crying in her sleep? "Merci, baby, are you awake?" Mrs. Jones says as she walks over to the bed wrapping her small hand around her daughter's baby soft one. An unmistakable pain shoots through her chest as if someone had taken a million needles and repeatedly pricked the same spot on her heart; Mercedes isn't acknowledging her. "Mercedes you haven't eaten since you woke up, darling; I know you probably want to just disappear right now. And I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, Merci, but you have to eat. Mercedes come on baby open your eyes, listen to me. Eat something."

Still nothing.

Releasing a sigh, Mrs. Jones checks the time. She really doesn't want to leave Mercedes alone, especially not like this. But she doesn't have an option. She was out of the office all day yesterday and missing today would really put her behind. Not to mention derail some of her new patients. The life of a psychiatrist, without her the practice doesn't function. Hopefully, the inconsistence hasn't affected her patients already because it is only going to get worse from here on out. She is a mother and her daughter needs her. That may have been forgotten before all of _this, _but it would not be forgotten again. Today she will be late, and she will leave early; her patients would be fine. Dr. Caren would see to it. She would also see to getting herself some help.

Caren leans sown to place a kiss on Mercedes' forehead, and wipes the tears that haven't ceased flowing since she noticed them. "Hey, my little girl, I know I messed up really badly. I'm the reason you're here, but I'm here now. I wasn't in the past; but there's nothing I can do to take that back. God knows if I could, I would give my own life so that we could go back to when things were better, so that I could be the mother you needed." Beginning to weep, "Baby girl, I'm so sorry. You deserve better than me." She stands up over her daughter trying not to completely lose her composure she needs to be strong for her baby. "Merci, I've got to go into the office today. I'll be back by 6 o'clock at the latest. Okay sweetie?"

And again, nothing.

She rushes out of the room clutching her heart. Caren could actually feel her heart breaking. In all her sessions with her patients she had always told them that it was only an externalization of their unconscious, yet, now she knows she owes those sad souls an apology because she could not have been further from the truth. The gripping fear that her little girl wasn't going to be alright was twisting her insides. Rushing into the restroom, Mercedes' mother wretches her empty stomach. How can she fix this when she isn't even well herself? Mercedes has gone from responsive to unresponsive in a matter of hours. She was just talking yesterday, albeit broken and weak, but talking nonetheless. If she's not talking to anyone she is only going to get worse.

Dead, lifeless eyes open once the door clicks closed. They stare at the ceiling altogether oblivious to their surroundings. Mercedes has retreated to within herself. Incapable of confronting the words that her mother has just spoken. She didn't want to hear her mother's voice. Or her words. Didn't need to feel her mother's touch. It only left her more barren. Leaves her longing for the sound of a different voice, wishing for a more affable touch. If he were here only then would she be able to face the day. He gave her strength. Why? I don't know. He just does. The door opens and closes but Mercedes doesn't hear it or simply ignores it.

Dr. Keyes reads the patient's chart noting that she didn't respond to her nurse. "Hello, Mercedes." Appraising her food cart, he also notes that she hasn't touched her food. In fact, she hasn't eaten since she's been in her room. That's a problem. It bothers him, as well, that she hasn't moved or made any indication that she is aware of his presence. Dr. Keyes raises Mercedes' bed so that she is no longer lying flat but inclined. He takes out his pen light and flashes it in each eye to check if her pupils are stimulated by the light. If they are not, there may be more going on than him being ignored by a mentally fatigued individual. As expected, the pupils are equal round and reactive to light. "Mercedes, honey, how are you doing today?"

Nothing.

Sighing, "Okay, if you need anything just push the button and," looking at the chart, "Traci will get it for you. I'll be back later in the day." He finishes, making notes in her chart exiting her room in a forlorn mood. He has only been a doctor for three years; this is his first attempted suicide case, and it is breaking his heart. Dr. Keyes couldn't imagine what this was doing to those closest to her.

Alone. The emptiness echoes in her head. Mirroring the void throbbing of her heart. The heart that she had ignorantly given to Finn. Logic and rationale told her she should hate him for his callous treatment of her; yet, no matter how much she wanted to she couldn't. How was she to loathe the very person she had willingly given her virginity, the only thing she had to offer him in return for his _affection_?

Her mind screams bloody murder, but her heart cries forgiveness, hoping she still has a chance. Because she was alone. I am always alone. Alone at home. Alone at school. Alone here at the hospit-

Mercedes' train of thought is thrown off track when the door opens. Instinctually she glances towards the visitor.

He smiles awkwardly with his head cocked to the left, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey."

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**Just want to say that I know you guys probably were looking for something else in this chapter, sorry, but better stuff is ahead. I just felt this chapter needed to be done. Initially it started as what is going through Mercedes head then her mother was there and I wanted to know what was going on in her head and I ended up with this. Also I know that it seems like Mercedes just flipped her switch off kind of quickly but recall that she shut down after that confrontation with her dad. So yeah that's pretty much it and I'm working on the next chapter as you read, and because I am no longer in school and currently looking for a job I have butt loads of free time which means writing time and I'm kinda getting back into the groove. But enough of that.**

**Drop a line let me know what you think was it good was it bad. Alert/favorite all those things are just motivation for me.**

**nakala**


	9. Chapter 9

Puck jogs from the hospital to his mother's car miffed that his mother is being impatient. Maybe I shouldn't be upset with Mom, but I am. Sure, she just got off work and is doing me a huge favor by taking me to pick my car up from the school parking lot, but a girl almost died and hasn't been having such a good time of things; I would think what's going on with Mercedes is more important. Besides, it's her who's always telling me I should be a better person. Well, that's what I'm trying to do.

He opens the door getting in, he slams it shut.

"Noah!"

"What, Mom?" Puck says through clenched teeth.

"Don't what me. You get in this car with an attitude like I've done something wrong but I'm the one that's been sitting here in front of the hospital waiting for you to come out for 20 minutes."

"Really Mom? You know I've had a rough couple of days. I really needed to make sure she was okay before I left. Things are kind of bad right now if you haven't noticed."

Nora looks at her son with a mixture of emotions. On one hand, she is glad Noah is showing concern for another person, but the beleaguered mother can't tolerate her son lashing out at her because he's upset. It's understandable but not acceptable.

"Noah, sweetie, I'm sorry, really I am, but that's no excuse for your behavior. Do you know what kind of day I've had? Huh? No you don't because you don't work. And why don't you work? Because I make it so you don't have to. And after the day I've had, God knows I don't _want_ to drive past our home to take you to that school to pick up your car, but I'm doing it because I know you would hate having to catch the bus in the morning. But you don't care that I'm trying to do something nice for you because you're too busy being mad at me for wanting to get home to cook you a decent meal before it gets too late. I know you've barely eaten at the hospital. Well, you know what, I'm sorry I rushed you, I'm sorry for being selfish and not thinking of you."

Puck opens his mouth to retort, but finds no words. How could he say anything to that? I can be so stupid sometimes.

The drive to his truck is quiet. Neither he nor his mother volunteer to break the angry uneasy tension between them. He didn't mean to upset his mother; he wasn't thinking. Big shocker. Puck always has a tendency to think everything revolves around him from time to time. More often than not and it is no secret to him. He figures it has something to do with him being an only child with no father and an overcompensating mother. Pile more guilt on top of everything else he is dealing with and you have the perfect recipe for emotional torment. For the past year, Puck has been attempting to be better to and for his mother. After spending a week in juvie for some mildly criminal acts and witnessing the affects it had on his mom, he decided to try to clean up his act. Truly, Nora was a great mother, Puck would even venture to say the best mother in the world, no one was as great as her. But, sometimes he would get in his own way and do things like he did today. Lately, most of the time he was good about not being such a brat, but he'd slipped because there was a girl in the hospital who he had seen die, literally, and by proxy was guilty of murder. Not to mention the undefined connection he had with her. Every since he'd found out what English Girl had tried to do to herself images of her lying on the bathroom floor, on the stretcher, on the hospital bed unconscious, then that menacing glare that tore right through him, as well as her soft voice spoken to only him were playing in steady rotation on the massive jumbotron in his head.

I have so much going on that I can't focus. Then I have to go and hurt Mom's feelings because of _my _selfishness. Puck knows his mom is concerned about Mercedes' condition; it's just that he can't see past what Mercedes is going through and his role good and bad in the dilemma. All of this is too much. His mind is swimming with so many thoughts he can't seem to get them in order.

Before I realize it, we're in the school parking lot next to my truck. The truck my mom bought me when I turned 16. It's not much and needed a lot of maintenance, but it was a gift she didn't have to get me considering the shape her car was in at the time. Oh man! I owe her the biggest apology ever. Mom has been too good to me in spite of me. Chancing a glance at my mom, I expect to see an angry expression on her face, but what I see breaks my heart. With her gaze fixed staring out the windshield; I can see the telltale signs of tears brimming in her eyes. He had hurt her. He lowers his head gathering the nerve to make amends with his mother; however, before he can open his mouth, she speaks.

"You better hurry. We need to get home and get you fed."

She spoke and it reminded me of when she'd showed up at the jail to bail me out. Mom was disappointed in me. I hesitate to open the door wanting so badly for the words to come to me, the right words to say.

"Go on, now, I'll see you when you get home." Nora forces her lips to curl into what she hopes passes for a smile, but only comes off as if she's being shocked with a low voltage taser. She loves her son, but sometimes he could be so self-centered. A trait he got from his father. The father he would never really know.

Puck gets out of his mother's car sullenly making to his way to his vehicle. Unlocking the door, he throws himself in starting the ignition and cranking the stereo to the highest decibels his speakers could take. The past two days have been extremely exhausting for him, and if only for the brief ride home he doesn't want to think. He doesn't want to think about English Girl or why he hates himself, just a little. He doesn't even want to think about how crappy he was to his mother. Puck takes out the LMFAO cd, it's too mellow. Needing something mind numbing, he puts in his Van Halen cd in its place. He puts the truck in gear and starts driving toward anywhere but home as his music roars over all the constant contemplation he desperately wants to ignore. He would go home, he wouldn't keep his mom waiting long; he just needs some time. A little time to escape, then he would go home face his mother and all the demons he's sure will bulldoze his serenity once the music stops.

The short driveway to our modest home greets me as I pull into the garage, parking the truck in its usual spot beside Mom's. As soon as the music shuts off the onslaught of burdens he's recently began to carry fall onto his shoulders and weigh heavily on his mind. Trudging from his car, Puck doesn't address his mother when he passes her in the kitchen cooking dinner. He would once his mind has cleared a bit. The upstairs hallway closet was where they kept their bath towels and other bathroom necessities, Puck's immediate destination. He hasn't taken a shower in what seems like forever. Grabbing a towel, he goes into the bathroom adjacent to his room closing the door and locking it behind him. I turn on the shower letting the water get as hot as I can bare it. I want to wash all of this junk away. If only I could go back in time so that none of this would have ever happened. I avoid the mirror as I strip off my clothes and climb into the shower.

Standing in the tub, hot water punishes his skin. Puck submerges his head under the water hoping the constant tempo of the stream beating down on his head would ease his troubled mind. Amidst the steam his mind is reeling. It has on been two days. Two of the most harrowing days he has ever experienced. There have been some pretty jacked up moments in my life, but this probably takes the cake. Juvie was horrible, there's no question about it, but this ordeal is so much worse. Dad, well that was super crappy, but over the years I've gotten over that. Will I be able to get over this? I haven't been able to get a grip on my thoughts at all. Everything is barging through my mind at the speed of light. When things finally slow down I'm assaulted with my faults. My part in all of this.

Sure, he's reconciled his position in Mercedes' road to recovery, but Puck can't ignore the overwhelming guilt threatening to pressure him into a ball of misery. Though he's aware of the role he must play, he cannot escape his past actions. I am as responsible for all of this as any of the others. His knees buckle weakening under the crushing power of the thought. He bows his head lowering his forehead to the shower wall in front of him. Salty tears mix with the water rushing over his face. Doubt clouds his mind. How can I help someone I've hurt? Waves of despondency pummel him. Those umbrageous eyes piercing him. What if it returned? The loathing. If she looked at him with the same castigation as before. A look that could cut him in two as easily as the disheartened expression his mom had given him this evening. How could I be the person English Girl needs when I can't be the person my mom wants me to be? While scrubbing his arms, an image dances across his mind unlike every other this one reassures him dispelling his previous uncertainty. Though a shadow of the past, he remembers the broken smile Mercedes gifted him with today fills him with optimism. Not only had she smiled for him, she had spoken to him without the distaste. Only to him. I shouldn't boast in that but, I'm a guy. What can I say? The tough girl Puck knows she had been seeped through her battered exterior. English Girl had risen to his challenge. I had, in a sense, dared her to speak without the coddling, and she responded. He wouldn't baby her. Offer sympathy? Most definitely, but he couldn't baby her. Puck didn't know how. He dwells on that small victory more than the self pity that eagerly awaits him, vying for dominance.

He emerges from his den of desolation feeling, to a degree, revived. I am grateful that I figured out at least some of the crap before the hot water ran out because I may have stayed in there had I not. Stepping out of the shower I have no problem facing myself. I look in the mirror hating myself a lot less. I open the door and enter the hallway to the smell of garlic bread, probably made the hard way knowing Mom. She must be cooking spaghetti. I go to my room and fall into my bed with only my towel on, missing the comfort. After a few minutes of relaxation, Puck puts on a pair of black boxer briefs and digs in his dresser drawers for something to wear. He descends the stairs in a pair of old gym shorts and a black wife-beater. Walking into the kitchen where his mother is standing at the stove, he sees that she is no longer cooking, so he assumes she must be finished.

Not really sure of what to say, I continue into the kitchen silent. I know I owe my mom an apology, but I'm not really good at doing them because I haven't done them a lot in the past. Yeah, I have half-heartedly more times than I can count; actual honest apologies, I've only done that twice. First when I got out of juvie, to my mom, and second to English Girl today. That's all the experience I have. Despite Puck's desire to open his often loose lips, they remain pursed together. As if on command, he sets the table and helps his mother bring the food to the table. Old habits, huh.

Since he'd come back from the weeklong stay in the Lima Juvenile Detention Center, Nora had made a point to have dinner with her son. She contributed his delinquency to her lenience and absence. Long hours holding two jobs, and she always gave him his space. The day he came home she quit the second lesser job. Her son clearly needed her. He is an emotional creature. Noah will deny it whenever she mentions it, but he is. So she tries to let him work out his issues on his own because he is also awfully private when it comes to his feelings. That is why she holds her tongue as they fall into the routine they've had for the past year. Goodness she loves her boy. Her baby boy who is growing into a beautiful man. Nothing compares to her love for her son. Nora fills his plate with the spaghetti, garlic bread, and corn on the cob. She understood his disposition. Noah was just acting out. He's going through an emotionally taxing situation; he's mentally spent. She's not at all as mad at him as he thinks. How could she be? For once, he is being a responsible person and caring for someone other than himself. Her baby boy shouldn't have talked to her the way he did, but Nora thinks he understands that now; yet, she can't let him off the hook too easily. He's got to apologize because it's a part of growing up and being mature. Accountability. So, Nora allows her only child to stew and get up the nerve to do what she knows he will do. Eventually. In the mean time, she still didn't feel like speaking to him because he had hurt her feelings. She was a darn good mother, and he should never forget that. She looks on the other side of the table to Noah eating his food hungrily; a small smile plays across her face. She loved that boy more than life itself.

Puck keeps his eyes on his food as he inhales it. He is as hungry as he's ever been which is a great distraction from the matter at hand. Too fearful that displeasure would be peering back at him from his mother's eyes and certain that it was there, he avoids looking up from his plate. Recently he's been noticing things like this more. Before everything, I couldn't care less about other people's emotions, save my mom's, at least not a whole lot. Now, it's like I'm a psychic or something because I'm seeing things I never would have otherwise. It mostly involves Mercedes. He seems more attuned to her reactions and emotions. Thinking back on his observance of English Girl, something his mind has done automatically the past few days, he sees her with her parents. I know I should be thinking up the best way to petition for my forgiveness from mom, but I can't keep my mind from wondering to save my life. I guess the present just pales in comparison. Note the lovely bit of sarcasm I threw in there because it all sucks.

Mercedes lay unresponsive to her mother's efforts of comfort. Eyes averted, gaze following a path past that of her mother. To be broken and utterly lost would be too much for any person to bear, but to attempt the task alone is unfathomable. Puck watched as English Girl ignored her mother's affection letting it wash over her impermeable to its effects. Its purpose lost on this lonely soul. In a way, he deems her actions callous. Her mother just wanted to help, be there for her same as him. It frustrates him. What makes him better than her mom? As far as he could tell, not a thing. All the same, Mercedes didn't think as he did. Just the thought of her maltreatment of her mother disturbs him to no end. Granted he had no right considering how he'd treated his mom when she came to pick him up today. Would I do my mom the same way if I were English Girl? I would like to think I would take all the love my mom wanted to give. It's just the two of us that should make a difference. There's no father, no best friend, no one else but my mom, and I know without a doubt she loves me more than anything. I'm such an idiot. I owe her big time. Even questioning his own hypothetical temperament, Puck still finds it detrimental to Mercedes' circumstances to push away the one person who loves her unconditionally. Because he knows that with a father like Reese, shutting out her mother will only make things harder. Puck didn't put it past the ornery man to make sure Mercedes had a tough time recovering.

My fork hits my empty plate with a clank, and I'm drawn from my ruminations. I'm starving; so, I fill my plate with the delicious spaghetti my mom has cooked, but before I take the first bite of my second helping, I glance at my mom. I expect to see her still fuming about earlier, but I see her smiling at me. It creeps me out. Have I pushed her off the edge? Because she should be giving me a wicked evil eye right now, not that creepy I love my child grin. To preserve my life, I jump right in better apologize before she pounces.

"Mom, I'm sorry." There I said it. That wasn't as hard and I thought it was going to be. But I guess fear of bodily harm can do that for you.

Nora's smile falters as her eyes fill with unshed tears.

Confusion strikes me. Just a second ago she was smiling now she's crying, either I did something again or she's going through that old lady thing. Or maybe she just thinks I'm yanking her chain. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time. "Mom I mean it. It was selfish of me, who am I kidding I _am_ selfish, but I mean it, Mom. I'm sorry for taking out my junk on you like that. You didn't deserve it."

"Oh, baby, I know you mean it." Nora's heart swells to triple its size hearing her son's sincere apology.

"Then why are you crying?"

"Because, baby, you're growing up. Have you ever been apologetic to anyone for anything as easily dismissed?"

"No."

"I didn't think so, especially not me, but you did and you meant it."

"Yeah, I did," he states more to himself than his mom.

"It just makes me proud is all."

"You don't have a reason to be proud of me."

"I don't?" The question itself is more rhetorical than inquisitive because Nora knows she has every reason to be proud of Noah. He is a good boy with a good heart; he doesn't show it often, but she would bet any amount of money on its existence.

"Mom, there's just so much you don't know. Yeah, I've been staying out of trouble since that stint in juvie, but it's more than that."

Ms. Puckerman, her maiden name not the surname of the degenerate sperm donor known as Noah's father, looks at her son disbelieving. Is something amiss, was she missing something? Her baby seems so miserable and self deprecating which is not like him. Noah is known for his hubris. Was this girl that he's so bent out of shape over causing him to be like this? She didn't want to, but she couldn't help asking herself if there was more going on with the teenagers than her son was letting on. He had told her otherwise, but now she just doesn't know. This new sullen look masking her son's gorgeous face bothers Nora. He was fine before all of this stuff with the troubled child. Being a mother, Nora can't be mad at the girl stuck in the hospital, and her heart goes out to her, but the adverse effects of everything involving the girl has had on her son has her wondering. Uncharacteristically ignoring what her son is trying to say, Nora blurts out the first thing on the tip of her tongue.

"What's going on between you and that girl at the hospital?"

"Huh?"

"I know you told me you didn't _know_ her, but are you sure there's not something you're not telling me."

"Mom." The annoyance acutely etched in his tone irritates his mom.

"Don't mom me. I'm worried. There's obviously something wrong with the girl. You tell me you don't really know her, but you don't leave her, and when you finally do come home, you give attitude."

Puck opens his mouth to interrupt, but gets the eye from his mother and stuffs some spaghetti inside his agape mouth instead.

"I'm worried you don't seem like your usual self. I don't like what this or her or whatever is doing to you. You were on the right path, and maybe I'm wrong and you are just hurt. You know the talk we had about being around positive influences, Noah."

She has no idea the influences I have been around for the past couple of years they may not be the regular criminals, but they are no less dangerous.

Puck was half way finished with his plate when his mother finally ends her little rant. I love my mom, but she could be a lot overprotective. English Girl tried to commit suicide; she didn't get caught in a shootout trying to escape the police.

"Mom-" before he could start pleading his case, his mom cuts him off.

"Tell me the truth, Noah, is there more between the two of you than you're letting on?"

"No. I know her from school." From even before 9th grade, I knew her. I see her in pigtails then they unravel to reveal long wavy hair sprawled on a dingy white tile floor. "I found her Mom."

Nora gasps as her son's voice catches and a tear slides down his left cheek.

Puck pushes his plate away, appetite abandoned. His mom reaches across the table clutching his hand always his source of comfort and strength. Puck continues after getting his emotions under control. "Mom, she was lying there…lifeless. It was like time stood still. How am I supposed to…It's my fault."

"What? How?" Nora shakes her head. "It's not your fault, Noah."

"You don't understand. Mom I-"

"Baby, things happen, and if you don't-didn't know her then you can't blame yourself."

"Mom…I do know her, kind of."

"But you said-"

"I know, mom. I don't know her like you think I know her, but I know her." My mom opens her mouth to say more, but I have to stop her. If she doesn't let me talk, I'll never get this out. "Please, mom, just let me finish, please." She finally closes her mouth, but I've lost my nerve a bit. Puck gets up taking his half empty plate dumping the contents in the waste disposer. His mother follows suit cleaning the table and putting the left-overs in tupperware. Withdrawn, they begin to wash the dishes, Puck washing while his mother dries. Nora eyes Noah concerned with the distress her son is experiencing. She studies him as he washes each dish hesitant to speak.

Puck stalls on the dish he's holding hands trembling slightly his emotions threatening culmination. Taking a shaky breath, he closes his eyes swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

"Mom, I was…" I'm not doing this right; so, I try it again. It'll be easier if I start from the beginning. "At school, there's this totem pole kind of system. Like people at the top run things, while the people at the bottom suffer. It's kind of messed up if you think about it 'cause it's only the two groups. Us at the top and them at the bottom. I'm at the top. English Girl, that's what I call her because we have English class together, and she's always answering questions in this class, her real name's Mercedes. She's at the bottom." He pauses taking time to get his thoughts in order. "Mom, I didn't know what I was doing or what I _wasn't_ doing affected her. If I would have known-I'm me, I don't matter. To me, yeah, but to other people?"

"Noah, baby, don't talk like that. You matter."

"Not like other people, Mom, I don't. But somehow, I do. At least-Mom I watched as they tortured her, bullied her. I stood by and watched, Mom, I watched them push, poke, and prod her like she was an animal. Over and over again. Mom she smiled at me once, but I just looked past her. I passed her by so many times without sparing her one glance. Mom…she…sat in front of me in Spanish all last year, but I never said a word to her. Not one. Today was the first day I've **EVER **said anything to her. Ever."

The dishes forsaken, Puck backs away from the sink and his tearful mother. I am such a jerk. A worthless jerk. He lowers his head standing in the middle of their modest kitchen restraint forgone as the deluge of guilt and sorrow confine him.

Nora steps towards her broken son to console him but halts as he takes an equal footstep in the opposite direction.

"What's worse? I let my _friends_ beat up on someone I secretly wanted to befriend, or that I was too afraid to talk to for whatever reason. For a lot of reasons. Because I wasn't smart enough. Because it would look bad, me talking to her. Mom, I was too much of a coward to go against the people I don't even like. People I have **never **liked. I just mindlessly followed them because that's what I was _supposed_ to do." Puck lifts his head to make eye contact with a now stilled Nora, emotions raw he continues at a sadly sick screech. "Mom, don't say it's not my fault. Because I know. I know…it is…my FAULT!"

The agony Puck's been repressing breaks forth surging from deep within causing him to crumble to his knees ashamed. Trembling hands cover a tear soaked face too embarrassed for his mom to see him. He physically aches as he releases the torrent of guilt he's been hoarding that continues to loom over his head. With as much as he has let go, more falls on his shoulders from reliving his past mishaps. It will take him a while, maybe years, to fully expel the guilt he's carrying. If at all, but Puck knows it's a small price to pay for all he's done. I deserve worse.

Lost in his suffering, Puck doesn't detect the arms engulfing him two seconds after his knees hit the hard linoleum floor.

_Noah was 10 years old the last time she saw him like this. Aaron was accustomed to showing up every couple of years. That particular year he'd come to visit his son a whopping 3 months in a row with a basket filled with promises. 'We're going camping on your birthday.' 'I have this new place you'll love maybe you can come stay with me sometime.' 'Things are going to change; I'm going to be in your life from now on.' Each month, each visit a new set of lies. The single mother watched as her little boy's eyes lit up with hope believing his sometimes father. Drawing from her son and desperately wanting everything Aaron said to be true this time, she squelched all apprehension she had. _

_His last visit came 3 days before Noah's birthday. He came in the morning staying till late in the night tucking his child in for the first and last time. It was all Noah had dreamed about: playing catch, girl talk, napping under a tree after eating too much for lunch. It was the best day her son had had in his 9 years of living. Watching her son with his father was surreal; yet, in that moment she believed that there would be plenty more moments to add until it became common. Kissing his son goodnight, Nora watched him place an antique watch in Noah's hand. Before he left, he apologized for everything and drove off. _

_On his birthday, Noah sat at the front door, bags packed, watch in hand, waiting for his dad to show. He had risen before the sun and rushed his mother to pack his gear. She willingly obliged. 8:00 am. No Aaron. Her son didn't waiver. 11:00 am. No Aaron. Noah could be very determined. 4:00 pm. 6:00 pm. Still no Aaron. The moon was high in the sky and the dark expanse was sprinkled with stars; yet, Noah sat at the door waiting for a phantom. He wasn't going to show, possibly ever again, which she found to be true. _

_Walking from the kitchen, Nora tried to get her son to eat dinner, but he refused to move. His birthday wasn't over. Her boy was every bit as stubborn as his mother, keeping his post until he'd fallen asleep some time before midnight. She placed him in his bed that night afraid of the ramifications of the lies of a selfish man. Her worse fears were confirmed as she awoke to screaming and things crashing. She hastened to Noah's room finding him balled up on the floor in the middle of a shattered lamp and trashed toys; the watch lying by his head with a broken face. Her sweet little baby lay there in the fetal position balling his eyes out. It was the most morose sight she had ever witnessed. Nora felt her heart wither to dust and blow away. Even if Aaron did return he was not permitted within a mile of her baby. Gathering all the strength her mother had given her which she had no doubt gotten from her mother, Nora Puckerman, picked up her weeping child and cradled him in her arms letting him know that he would always have her. _

Mother and son linger kneeled on the floor embraced as time sifts by. Until every ounce of strength Nora possesses is transferred to Noah. She would stay right where she was with aching knees and her shirt soaking with the tears of guilt her son had taken upon himself. He is doing all he can to atone for his inaction and that is more than she or anyone could ask of the young boy quickly growing into a man. Though it strips her of her breath and stops her heart to think of the circumstances igniting this cataclysmic evolution in her son, she isn't fool enough to ignore the benefits. Her Noah was becoming more considerate and penitent of which he was reluctant to be previously. He's opening up and expressing the feelings he's deigned to show even a sliver of before his misfortune with the teenage girl. Sadly, Nora had to accept the turning tides quaking in her son's soul. If only he could do things the easy way, but that isn't her son. He had to take the road often travelled before he veered off discovering his own route.

Wordless, Puck, pulls away from his mother's hold standing to return to the sink to finish the dishes with his mother in tow. The dishes are finished without a word spoken.

Nora dries the last plate and places it in the cabinet above her head. Turning to her son she finds herself alone.

Upstairs Puck dresses for bed trying with all his might to hold it all together. It was becoming too much. All of it. Whatever it is that has drawn him to this girl he'd shadowed for some time. Could he define its meaning? Did he want to? I pull off my shirt and gym shorts and climb into bed. For once in the past two days I feel secure. Stable. I have my mom with me; I'm home. I try closing my eyes hoping for empty darkness only to see English Girl. I quickly flick open my eyes. Staring at the ceiling, I pray to a God I know vaguely. His gaze skyward he notices the chipping paint covering his ceiling grateful for the patterns splattered there that grant him a blessed reprieve from his morbid cogitation. There's a spot directly overhead that looks oddly enough like an actual eye. My gaze stops there. I can't drag my eyes from it. It seems familiar as if it possesses life. Its shape an exaggerated round. Transfixed, an eye equally fascinating floats into his mind superimposed. I see Mercedes. The different images flowing at top speed in chronological order. Eyes closed. Eyes opened. Wrath. Wounded. Confusion. Wrath. Fear. Despair. Void. Fear. Helplessness. Void. Trust. Yeah, trust. I close my eyes holding on to only one expression.

Puck missed one day of school. If he had it his way he would have taken a month off. He sure needed it. I roll out of bed and amble down the stairs where my mom's left me breakfast. She does that for me. Every morning she has toast, waffles, or something waiting for me. Popping a warm pancake in my mouth, I grab my keys from the counter and my book bag by the bottom of the stairs. The entire car ride to school I'm in a complete daze. Nothing enters his mind save the thought of seeing Mercedes after school. His dreams were filled with illustrations of English Girl, and to his pleasure they were not of the melancholic kind. Only that semi-smile she'd offered Puck when he'd last seen her.

The parking lot is bustling with students, but Puck lags back in his truck observing. Just two days ago he was one with the masses, part of the in crowd. However, today things are different. The rose colored glasses have been beaten off of his boyishly handsome face and smashed into tiny little pieces. Noah 'Puck' Puckerman is not like them. Not anymore. He will never be like them ever. This transformation wasn't by choice; he is aware of that. Because had he not been the person to find Mercedes in the girl's bathroom that day, he may very well continued as he was. A sheep shepherded by someone possibly dumber than even him. But walking into the school, his vision is 20/20 because hindsight had been redeeming. Puck is free. Free from imposed wills, stupid conversations with shallow idiots, but most of all, he is free from the pressure to fit in because he's not willing to pay the price for being that weak again.

The school day proceeds as usual. Like nothing ever happened, just as Mercedes had assumed. There isn't a buzz about the girl found nearly dead at school. Nothing. For this, Puck is thankful; he is glad he doesn't have to listen to misconstrued stories fabricated from some moron's account of what they assume happened. However, all good things must come to an end. And what an end it comes to, when I see Finn Hudson walking toward me with a goofy grin on his face before lunch. Until now I had forgotten about him. The anger that justly belongs to him. That is until I see his stupid mug with that retarded smirk that makes him look like he's got a lump of crap stuck in his butthole clogging him up. Boy was he going to pay for what he did to English Girl. I know my mom is going to flip her stuff when she finds out what I've done, but I'm banking on the fact that she'll understand. Mom will know that I have no idea how to handle this situation any other way. I just don't know how.

Before Finn can get closer than an arm's length away he says, "Hey, Pu-," before he can finish my name I take the step needed to meet my fist to his fragile nose. It's time to pay up.


	10. Chapter 10

Finn's head snaps back so sharply that if Puck had super hearing he'd bet he would have heard the crackle and pop of Finn's vertebrae. Blood trickles from the taller teen's nose as he holds it in shock. Puck stands guarded ignoring the stunned bleeding boy in front of him. His first inclination is that Finn will strike first ask questions later, but he is wrong. The punk is going to cry. I can't blame him; he has no idea what's going on. If some guy walked up and hit me; I'd kill him, not cry.

"What was that for?" Finn yells through his covered mouth. He's still holding his nose trying to impede the bleeding. He searches around the hall for any witnesses; it would murder his reputation if people saw this. Especially the tears filling his eyes.

Does Puck owe Finn an excuse for what could be considered a legitimate sucker punch? Maybe so, but that doesn't mean he was going to get one. Was it a pot shot, yes, but Finn deserved it. From what I have gathered English Girl didn't get a heads up before he screwed her, pun definitely intended, and left her high and dry. Not that I know of, and even if he did, it doesn't justify his actions. I mean, not that I know exactly what really happened but whatever it was it was enough to make her want to off herself. And for that, I'm going to make him wish he was dead.

Fuming, Puck hisses through his teeth, "I'll tell you later, right now, I just want to finish what I started."

Puck doesn't think this worthless piece of crap deserves a preamble to his butt kicking. And there will be plenty kicking of the butt.

"What? You're crazy."

Puck cocks his head to the left, thinking over Finn's accusation. "Maybe, but I can live with that."

Tired of thinking about my actions, I strike Finn with a right hook to his jaw connecting with a fighter's precision. The punishment I know he is getting is mirrored in the pain I feel course through my still closed fist. Pain I gladly accept if it means the jerk that hurt Mercedes will experience what she feels. If only just a little.

Finn stumbles to his right; the impact causing his vision to blur. Shaking his head to clear the stars, he steadies himself preparing for a fight he didn't ask for.

"Now he catches on." Puck taunts Finn feeling the adrenaline pump through his body fueled by his rage. This fight is going to work wonders with expelling each and every demon that has been haunting him. Just like the dope readying himself to fight used Mercedes, an ugly truth I know, I'm going to used Finn. Make him a punching bag on English Girl's behalf.

"If it's a fight you want, well, you got it." Finn can barely see through the pain throbbing in his nose and the steady pulsing in his jaw.

Puck rolls his eyes at how pathetic Finn sounds speaking through his swollen nose with a muffled voice. Without a second thought Puck lunges at Finn grabbing him by the shoulders and kneeing him in the stomach. Finn furls over pushing Puck back as he hold his abdomen, but quickly realizing his disadvantage, rushes Puck ramming his midsection with his right shoulder driving him into the lockers hard enough to knock the wind from him.

As I try to catch my breath the prick takes the given opportunity, the only one he's going to get, and lands a pretty substantial blow to my mouth. I curse as the copper taste of blood fills my mouth. This is one flavor I would rather not have the pleasure of relishing, so, I spit out the stuff and work my jaw from left to right.

A smile curls onto Finn's lips when he sees the blood covering Puck's teeth, hoping he has knocked one out or at least loosened a few. Seeing as how the amount of blood produced from his hit doesn't quite equal the amount lost from his busted nose, neither option seems valid. However, it does make him feel like he's gaining some control in the fight finally. Finn's gloating is rendered moot when puck advances with raging speed delivering a series of punches with almost the skill of an amateur boxer.

Jab.

Eye.

Jab.

Jaw.

Jab.

Gut.

It all happens in such rapid succession Finn can't match Puck blow for blow, never being much of a fighter, tending mostly toward loving. Promptly Finn dodges a possible fatal hit and tackles Puck, his one sure fire fighting skill. Succeeding, they land on the floor Finn on top. Immediately they being tussling and scuffling as the crowd starts to grow around them. Finn recognizes his mistake too late as he's lying on the floor being pummeled by his friend.

I put all of my weight onto the punk squirming underneath me and drill him. Blow after blow, hit after hit, ignorant of the cheering audience around us. That is, until I feel myself being ripped away and tossed away from the bloody douche lying on the floor looking pitiful. I look past Coach Bieste still seeing red fighting to get to Finn, but she's got me, pushing me into the wall. She's screaming in my face. I don't hear her but I know she's yelling because I can feel the spit spraying my face. Nothing she says registers because I only have eyes for Finn, and the buzzing surrounding me doesn't simmer until I see Sylvester picking him up helping him down the hall.

"What are you thinking? Hey! Hey? Listen to me. What's going on here?"

"Nothing!"

"That wasn't nothing, Noah, you just beat up your teammate. Something is going on. Now. Spill."

Bieste must be out of her mind if she thought I was going to tell her why I beat the crap out of douche-number-one. She may be intimidating and all manly but I'm not in the mood for talking.

"Just let me go."

"No, Puck, not until you tell me why you were smashing your friend's face."

I heard about her persistence. The chick may look like a male body builder and eat like one, but she is all woman when it comes to talking. She can't get enough of it. I guess to get rid of her I should tell her something.

"Look, he did something to someone who didn't deserve it. Hurt'em. So I hurt him."

"That's it? That's all you got?"

"That's all I'm giving."

"Okay, hope you have more for Figgins."

Coach Bieste shakes her head disappointed in the football player. But what could she do, he doesn't want to talk and if he doesn't talk, she can't help him. Walking away, Bieste motions for her student to follow her.

When they get to Figgins' office, his secretary informs them that Puck has to take a seat and wait to be called in. He takes a seat willingly, Finn is nowhere in sight and his back and side are killing him. Coach Bieste leaves as soon as I sit down; I guess she doesn't see the need to mediate with it just being me, which I am all too grateful for. She's the one teacher, coach person that I actually like, but I can't tolerate her tough woman with a heart thing today, not that her understanding my situation would do anything. I'm going to get kicked out of school for a week and my mom's going to kill me. I may never make it back to school. I'll be dead. Dead. I wish just a little bit that I were dead then I wouldn't have to deal with this headache and aching side. Physically exhausted, I rest my head on the wall behind me; Figgins is a crap principal and will probably take at least an hour before he gets to me. I close my eyes about to take a nap when I hear someone shuffling in my direction and feel them throw themselves in the seat beside me.

He doesn't open his eyes, not even a little. Puck doesn't want to look at Finn, for fear of breaking his face more than he already has. Neither did he want to talk to the vile human. If he didn't have to speak with Finn for the rest of his life it would be too soon.

"What was that about? I thought we were friends."

Puck doesn't answer him right away, but opens one eye glancing in Finn's direction without turning his head. What he sees causes an involuntary chuckle, which comes out as a grunt. Finn is staring back at him with a tissue stuffed nose and a black eye that Puck knows from experience will be swollen shut by day's end. His shirt is stained with blood and bruises are appearing on his cheeks. Puck guesses that there's probably a big one growing on his abdomen from the knee he'd given him. A number or two had really been done on him. Closing his eye, Puck takes a deep breath.

"I'm going to say this to you and I'm not saying anything else to you. Got it?"

There is a pregnant pause; Puck isn't waiting for Finn to answer per se. He doesn't care if he does because this would be all he said to Finn regardless. However, Finn doesn't answer.

"Mercedes Jones." The secretary calls Puck's name; Figgins is finally ready for him. He doesn't look at him even as he passes by. "And we were never friends."

Once in the office, I take my usual seat prepared to ignore the load of bull that's about to come out of this wack job's mouth. I know the drill; he should know that by now, but goes through it anyway. I know I'm out for five consecutive days and when I come back, no games just practice, for at least three games. It's not like I'm all that valuable. I'm staring blankly at him when he does something I don't expect. He asks me why I beat Finn up. Normally he just gives me the run down and dismisses me, but he must be confused by my actions because just two days ago everyone thought that Finn and I were friends. He's expecting an answer I assume, but it's not my place to mention English Girl. This was about her, and I couldn't tell Figgins why I did what I did without implicating her. So I didn't.

"He deserved it." What's the point anyway when it's not going to stop him from kicking my butt out of school?

When the principal finishes with Puck, he sends him out to wait while he talks with Finn. Only five minutes pass by and he's called in again. More of the same rigamarole. It was all my fault. Right, there. I practically ambushed Finn, no complaint from me on that. And he was calling my mom.

"Figgins you can't call my mom she's at work, and she'll freak. So just give me some kind of letter or something and I'll give it to her when she gets home." He looks at me with what could amount to shock, but complies. He's a lazy administrator and it doesn't hurt that I know they keep that stuff on file. I take the letter and walk out. I don't wait for the rest; it's been a long morning and now I have the rest of the day off. Initially, I set out for home; I need to lie down. I'm tired and my side is still hurting, but thinking about the fight, I remember why I fought and change direction toward the hospital.

Arriving at the hospital, Puck realizes he looks like he's been in a brawl with his bloody lip and goes to clean up. After washing up, he b-lines it to Mercedes' room hoping she's alone. He couldn't have her mother seeing him like this; her perception of him would be ruined, and she would probably want him nowhere near her daughter. He doesn't even think about running into her father knowing the chances of that actually happening are pretty slim. When he makes it to the room he doesn't knock, simply walking through the door.

"Hey."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Of all the people that could come in her room at this moment, Mercedes is relieved that it's him. After the long morning she'd barely endured with her mother, she needed the comfort that inexplicably accompanied his visits with her. With a slight tug of her lips, Mercedes offers her guest a weak smile.

"Hey." Tears begin to stream down her face at the amount of effort it takes for her to do something so simple. She hadn't anticipated the sting in her heart. It was pure agony trying to smile through the sorrow. Physically, mentally agonizing. Makes a person wonder what's the point of trying to live a life you actually tried to snuff out. But I'm trying. I really am, but sometimes the labor isn't expressed in the harvest. Sometimes it takes more than I have to give.

They gaze at each other, her through clouded eyes, and him through revelation. To him, her tears reveal the depth of her struggle. That no matter how many steps she takes in the right direction, she has a long way before she begins to near the bottom. For her, it's a muddle of confliction. A dichotomy that gives her the strength to smile, yet, fosters her freely flowing tears. She's happy. Happy that Puck is there. Happy that he remembered her. Didn't forget to come visit her. But there's also pain. An unbearable pain. She's impossibly broken and lonely. So lonely. Standing in front of her gawking at her like she is some sideshow is her only friend. If she could even call him that.

Breaking out of his trance-like state, Puck hurries to Mercedes' side. Settled on the bed with her, he surrounds her in his arms.

"It's okay. I'm here." I'm here? What can I do? What do I say to someone who is possibly contemplating death again? I don't that's what. He doesn't say anything else. He can only imagine what it's like to try to find the courage to live an unwanted life. The young man can't even begin to. Apparently at a loss for words, he holds Mercedes willing any strength he has into her.

Puck's had a crappy morning, all due to his inability to handle his anger with anything but fists, but he wouldn't be so arrogant as to believe that his raucous beginning could compare to English Girl's. He can't say for certain what has happened this morning or yesterday after he left; he gathers anything that she's had to deal with would definitely be worse than anything he's gone through. It fill Puck with joy to be a source of strength for her.

Silently Puck strokes her back in a soothing up and down motion. He doesn't know why he's doing it just that it appears to be working. Her vicious sobs are gradually abating, and he finds comfort in knowing his small gesture is making such an impact. Satisfaction stirs in him, and it disturbs him, finding the feeling inappropriate and pleasing simultaneously. It bothers him little that he is incapable of accurately pinpointing the origin of this new feeling or clearly decipher its meaning, now is not the time for his feelings. Later he would figure it out. Mercedes has more important issues she's facing and he can't help her if he's caught up in himself.

While Puck sits lost in his personal bewilderment, Mercedes summons the wherewithal to compose herself. I don't want to be seen like this. Yet, every time he's around, I can feel the walls I've erected crumbling permitting him private viewing of my suffering. It's becoming hackneyed, this carousel spinning faster and faster each turn leaving me more disoriented as time speeds on. So, for now, if only for now, I'm going to pull it together and talk to Noah. Noah, who I feel more than comfortable around. Who I want to be vulnerable with. Who I want to be strong for. Noah.

"Sorry." She pulls away almost fearful of losing contact. Her head moves from his chest to rest on his shoulder as they sit side by side.

Puck loosens his grip when Mercedes slinks out of his arms. Without hesitation he releases her fretting that he's crossed the line and she's only given notice now. However, her still lingering form in his space and her head perched on his shoulder alerts him of his miscalculation. Confidently, he snakes his arm around her waist firmly.

"For what?" He says taken aback.

Mercedes wipes a runaway tear from her eye, mentally shakes her head at her body's defiance, and points to the sizeable tear stained spot on his shirt. Not saying a word.

"You don't have anything to apologize for. I get it." Really he did. It wasn't a lie. Not exactly because he could understand a little. It's similar to when he'd given up on having a father; having to kill the memories of the man he wanted to love him more than, as a child, he wanted to be a superhero. And once he was sure he was free of them, they would resurrect themselves and torture him anew.

Musing over the words spoken over her head, Mercedes selfishly questions his statement. "Do you?" The words come out insecure and delicate.

"Not really, but kind of."

Kind of? What can I do with that? Nothing. I can't do anything with that. Is he just trying to appease me? Because I would rather the truth. That he didn't get it. That I'm pathetic. That I should suck it up and get over it and not squander this second chance at life. A life I don't want, I think as an afterthought. How could he conceive the madness that's clawing at the infinitesimal resolve that I have trying to break free every second of every day? He couldn't. Could he? Does it matter? I shut my eyes taking deep breaths clenching my eyes tight fighting the urge to fall apart. Just wanting it all to stop. All of it. Her mind. Her torment. Her breathing? The answers to her conjecture dissolves from her mind as she feels Puck lay his head atop hers. Mercedes' only been this close with one other guy, but somehow this feels different. Scary, but good. Calming. Her breathing evens out at his touch. She hadn't noticed she was nearly hyperventilating. Simultaneously, all her thoughts cease, and then begin again only less frantic than before.

The quiet in the room caters to the teenagers' moods. It's encouraging and they welcome it. Will it to fulfill its purpose.

We sit like this for a time, English Girl and I, connected in possibly more ways than one. She's not talking and I'm not sure if she's given up on the action or if I said something to agitate her. But I don't move, and I don't speak. This is her show; I'm taking her lead. I just want to be what she needs. And if it's just a shoulder, I'm fine with that. Puck inhales and riding along the waves of air is the subtle scent of warm vanilla with light top notes of magnolia that forces his lids over his eyes. The smell reminds him of his idea of home.

"It's hard, you know?" Her voice leaves her mouth as a hushed mutter; yet, the whisper manages to reach Puck's ears. He doesn't respond; he had before and it seemed to ruffle her. This time leaning on the side of caution he listens and waits. She'll continue when she's ready.

Puck thinks ten minutes have passed since Mercedes' rhetorical question. She doesn't move an inch as if frozen. She doesn't even fidget. Finally when Puck begins to believe she's given all she could, he feels her head shift with a quick intake of breath that is expelled in a huff.

"Everyday…" Trailing off into thought, I contemplate my every day. A couple of days. I've been trying to cope. An endeavor I fear I may not accomplish. But- "It's only been two days." The thought escapes her mental rant as she blurts out.

The odds are stacked against her. With the amount of mental acumen it has taken to remain the fragmented whole she is now, it's going to be hell keeping what few pieces that are weakly stitched together from snapping apart and drifting away.

Following instinct, Puck merely nods, not wanting to interrupt English Girl and whatever she's attempting to say, which is easy for him because she seems to be talking more to herself than him.

"Two days. I've been in the hospital alive two days. I-" I choke on my words. I can't breathe. Each breath I take reminds me of the life I am living. I need some space; so, I remove my head from Noah's shoulder. Lowering my heavy head, I stare absentmindedly at my laced tensing fingers. Fortunately, his arm stays in place because I refuse to move my body from his side fearful of the consequences of separating from the consoling warmth he exudes. I feel his eyes inspecting my profile. I don't meet his gaze. I don't want to see the burdened look reflected back at me. Tears fall into my eyes, but I don't cry. Noah's arm lightly squeezes me, in what I can only assume is a gesture of solidarity. _ He's here. It's okay. _In a way I know that at this very moment I am okay because of him. Who knows what I'll revert back to when he's gone?

"I…I don't want…to be here," she whispers.

"You'll probably go home tomorrow," Puck says softly.

He's still looking at me. Noah has misunderstood the meaning in my words. I almost don't want to clarify, but I do. "No…Not here _here_." With my head downcast, I glance toward him peripherally trying to convey the unsaid. I spy the realization as the smile that previously gleamed in his eyes dims replaced with trepidation. The boy sitting beside me opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, and I can see his frustrations clearly on his face. He wants to help me. Say something that may help. He doesn't know it yet, but I'm a lost cause. I pity him for feeling otherwise.

"It's okay. I-I guess I…I'm not going anywhere." A rueful grin spreads itself across the woeful girls face. She's accepted her fate. She is doomed to live a semblance of life. Mercedes believes she will never truly be able to live a full life. Without much effort, she has given up. Except when he is around. When Puck is around or she thinks of him, she holds on to the glimmer of hope that he inspires inside her. Hope that she could actually do it. Live. If not a whole life a half-life.

Incapable of finding the words, a feeling he is finding all too familiar these days, Puck keeps his mouth closed and his deductions to himself.

"I want to. Sometimes it's all I want. All I can think about. Things would be easier. For Mom. Dad. For me. You."

Pucks eyes nearly pop out of his head. "Me? It wouldn't be easier for me, not in the least bit. And not for your mom or your dad, even if it doesn't seem like it now. You can't go anywhere now. Or ever. It would probably kill us all."

Mercedes absorbs Puck's unabashed honesty. Letting it was over her easing her frayed psyche for the time being. She rests her head back on his shoulder eyes shut.

Puck examines his _friend. _"How you feeling?" He's trying to gauge what's going on inside of her head. What would make her think that her being dead would be better? Also, she looks pretty worn out.

When she speaks, she doesn't open her eyes. "I feel…sometimes I don't know what I feel." She opens her eyes searching for Puck's. "Is that normal?"

"I think so. Sometimes I have a hard time figuring things out myself."

"I guess so, but isn't it certifiable that I know what I want-that I want…you know, but I can't interpret my feelings?"

"Not really, you're going through something different-pretty tough…it makes sense. I won't say I understand, but if it makes you feel better, it really does make sense."

"I don't think anything could make me feel better, but thanks for trying."

"Well, I guess I'll have to keep trying until we find something that works." Puck gives Mercedes a quick squeeze around her waist where his arm is still resting, which elicits a faint snicker from Mercedes. "Was that a giggle?"

"No," Mercedes sounds off with feigned effrontery.

"I think it was, so, I'm getting somewhere. You can't take that from me. Can you?"

She rolls her eyes; this guy is really more than she thought he was. Way more. "No. I can't." Instantaneously she goes from a single ray of sunshine bursting through the storm clouds shrouding her dismal life to black skies and hurricane force winds. If only her mother cared enough to try, instead of the steady stream of pity.

Puck feels the air around him constrict in response to Mercedes' mood. He'd almost lured her from her darkness, yet, somehow he'd failed, and she'd retreated tensed in his arms. There was something triggering this reaction in her. He figures if he can pry it from her inconspicuously then maybe he could do something about it. He so badly wants to help this girl. "Hey," he says nudging her with his shoulder, "bad morning?"

Mercedes doesn't utter a sound. Should she-could she confide in him any more than she already had. The exertion it took her to say the few things she had already said was like pulling teeth with a pair of rusty eroded pliers with no anesthetic. However, despite the pain, it was worth it to finally tell someone what she's been feeling for the past two days and for the better part of this year. What did she have to lose? Definitely not her pride. That had gone along with her virginity. So… "Morning?" She sneers remembering it all too freshly. "Try since I woke up here."

I talk to him. I mean really talk to him. Surprisingly, this time easier than the first. I don't have to think about it. Talking to Noah comes naturally, as if subconsciously there's a deeper connection between the two of us that frees the chains that are binding my heart forcing my soul bare opening my mind to him. All to a virtual stranger. The words rush from my mouth without pretense or reservation. I relay my feelings of the sheer terror it was to endure being berated by my father. My hopelessness and confusion. I give him access to all my inner turmoil. Explaining my unresponsive tendencies toward the outside world. Everything that has been riding along shotgun the past two days. "It's difficult to be. To just _be._ I have no energy. I have no energy to do the simple things, let alone fight any battles I may face. So I don't. I fear trying may break me completely. Instead, I would rather disappear. Fade out into nothingness. With everyone except…you."

There has to be a reason, she ponders, she's given herself to Noah so uninhibited. Why he's in fact so different from her mother. Searching for a concrete answer, she concludes that his lack of pity may be why. He doesn't pity her, no; there is a great deal of sympathy, but no pity. And for that, she is grateful. But as grateful as Mercedes is, she is over talking about the disaster that is her second lease on life.

I pull away farther to look at his face. He's been here for a while and I have yet to see his face really see it. Before I was crying and since then I've been somewhat dazed. In and out of it. When I do, I'm taken away from my own world and thrust into his. A reprieve I'm going to take with open arms.

"What happened to your lip?" Puck's bottom lip is slightly swollen and there is a bloody slit off center at the thickest part of his lip. Mercedes thinks he looks kind of sexy all messy with his bad boy bruises. Only for a second, because as soon as she thinks it she forces it out of her mind.

"Got in a fight."

"What time is it?"

"What?" He is thrown by her sudden outburst but doesn't question her. He doesn't want to set her off, make her feel bad in any way.

"The time. It's not after three is it?"

"Nooo, more like after one now. Why?"

"I don't know, just came into my mind. My perception of time is a little off these days."

Puck looks her over with a raised brow. She seems okay, much better than before even. After a few seconds, they both break into laughter. It was the first time she laughed in a long while, even before… this. A really long time.

As the laughter subsides, they sober and Mercedes continues along a more sane line of questioning. It baffles her that she converses with Puck sans hesitation. "So you got into fight, with whom?"

Puck stiffens. He thought they'd left this forest for greener pastures, but he was wrong. Relief had taken the place of fear when English Girl seemed more concerned with the time. Now, it seems, he's going to have to tell her he fought with Finn. If he could avoid it, he would because as soon as she found out there would be questions. Too many questions. He wasn't ready to answer some of them, while others had no answers. Well, none he cared to think of right now. While some would just seem weird. How does he tell her that he's stolen her suicide letter, and for some bizarre reason he carries it in his pocket. _Hey, I found the letter you wrote before you-you know, and I read it. It just so happens to be in my pocket right now. I've kept it with me since I found it. Why? Oh, uh… _Yeah, that would go over well.

"Noah?"

"Huh?"

"You zoned out, are you okay? Does your head hurt or something?"

"Uh, yeah." I'm such an evil person. Lying to a person in a hospital bed all to cover my own butt. But I guess I have to do what I have to do to keep her away from the topic of Finn until I figure out a way to tell her I have her letter.

"Do you want to lie down? It may help. I can scoot over and you can have the pillow."

Puck gazes at Mercedes. Just looks at her. Though he'd never spoken to her in the past, there was a part of him that knew her. He could see the person everyone ignored. He couldn't believe his ears. Here he is trying his hardest to be a decent shoulder for her to cry on, when she, after wishing for her own demise, is effortlessly attempting to comfort him.

A liar. A party to her current situation. I don't deserve the privilege of her confidence. I don't deserve the glimpse of her beautiful soul that she has shown me. But I do. She lets me and I do because…I don't know why she does. Yet I plan to take advantage. Looking in her sincere eyes, I know I'm wrong, but I can't stop myself. I must be Satan's cousin because I choose to lie down beside her as she moves to slide over.

"You don't have to move. I'm fine. I have plenty of room."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Puck closes his eyes feeling guilty about deceiving Mercedes, but he can't be sure the truth would allow him to be this close to Mercedes if she were to find out now.

"That better?"

"Yeah."

He settles into the pillow and silence envelope them both for some time. The young girl glad to have something other than herself to ponder, as the young boy lying beside her tries to come up with the best way to avoid truthfully answering her impending questions.

Mercedes glances over at Puck sees his eyes still closed and nudges him gently. "Hey, you still awake?" The last thing she needs is to be alone with her thoughts.

"Hmm? Yeah."

I look to Noah's still form beside me and for a moment, I'm taken away. He takes me away and I welcome every escape. It isn't that I have this unrelenting desire to know who Noah's been fighting. If my recollection serves me right, he was always in some form of altercation with someone all the time, but it's more that I'm actively seeking out the force that he yields to eliminate the silence that births the battle cry of the legions of demons camped out biding their time until they can take me under again. "So…who did you get into a fight with?" He stirs and I see one mossy iris sparked with golden flecks staring back at me.

"Uh," he shifts again opening both his eyes, "It was some douche who deserved it."

"Likely." I smile sarcastically. I know Noah's reputation; this poor guy could have just looked at him wrong and bam.

"No he really deserved it." Puck's expression hardens as his voice comes out strained.

"Who was it?" Puck's vague response sends Mercedes' curiosity into overdrive. Before the conversation was a good distraction, but now, the cat inside her is stirring. In happier times, she had been somewhat of a sucker for some juicy gossip, and if Puck's hesitance to tell her about this fight is any indication, the who and why can be classified as a tasty bit of gossip. She is officially dying to know what happened and with whom.

"It was…" Puck stalls. I can't tell her. I know I shouldn't, but how can I get around it. There's no way. So I clear my throat and continue, hopefully English Girl doesn't ask many more questions. "Finn."

Finn. Finn. Her mind begins to tilt on its axis tempting to topple over. He got into a fight with Finn. All curiosity dissipates. That name carries with it the weight of her burdens. All of them. The reason she is currently residing in Lima General. Images of them together flash before her eyes reminding her of just how invaluable her life really is. Her lips shape form to speak but the sound is caught in her chest. Mercedes wants to continue with Puck as if nothing has changed, but there's nothing there. Her mind is a flutter with Finn. His name on steady repeat in the sound of her voice. I don't want to hear anything about Finn. I don't want to remember that he even exists or how my heart skips a beat at the sound of just his name for all the right reasons and every wrong one. I swallow the lump in my throat and the miniscule amount of curiosity that still lingers despite my misgivings. When I speak, it will not be about Finn.

Puck eyes English Girls suspiciously. She should be feeding him a firm line of questions of which he would try to his best to sidestep. However, the opportunity doesn't present itself.

"Does your mom know you're here?"

The sudden outburst causes Puck's brows to furrow. He expected a question but not this one; however, noticing she is on the verge of tears he doesn't question her. "No, she's at work."

"Don't you think you should tell her about what happened? Let her know you're not at school."

"I'll tell her when I get home. Figgins gave me a note. I'll give it to her when I get home and hope I'm still alive to come see you tomorrow morning." Puck does worry about his mother's reaction, but he was more so worried about English Girl. The light he saw previously occupying her liquid brown eyes has faded and it saddens him. He sucks in a deep breath letting it out in a sigh as Mercedes continues talking. He knew nothing good would come out of mentioning Finn.

"I guess you'll be leaving before she gets home."

It isn't a question, but I can feel one buried in there. She doesn't want me to leave. I never planned on leaving. "Nah, I'll be here until your mom comes back. You're probably tired of being here alone." I don't think I should leave you alone after the talk we've had today.

"Won't your mom be worried?"

"Yeah, she would, but she normally gets home around 5 or 6 so I have until then, but I'll text her to let her know where I am if she gets home before me." Puck whips out his phone checking the time first. He doesn't want his mom to know he's not in school; if she received a text before school let out, she'd probably leave work early to kill him. Seeing that it's after three, he sends a text to his mom. "So when are you getting out of here?"

"I don't really know, but I've heard the doctor mention that I'm only supposed to be here a couple of days and then I can go home. But when exactly I don't know."

"Yeah, hopefully soon. You going back to school when you get out?" He doesn't know why he asks her such a question. He knew by the way that her face pinched that it wasn't something she wanted to talk about. Yet, he's not surprised when she answers because she's as strong as he believes she is.

"I don't know. I'm sure my parents will be deciding."

Puck skirts around the issue of her attempted suicide knowing now isn't the time to tackle that subject quite yet. No matter how much he is itching to know what exactly happened between she and Finn, he assumes she'll open up to him in her own time as she has done today. There is something, however, that may not be taboo that he would like answers to. "Speaking of your parents, why were you ignoring your mom?"

"Uh…wh-why?"

"I don't know. she was being really nice, uh, trying to, uh, comfort you, but you were just sitting there. I wouldn't have done that if it was my mom."

"You probably love your mom."

"You can't tell me you don't love your mom. I don't think you're that kind of person."

"I'm not sure if we have formally broached this subject, but you don't know me, _know me_. You know of me, but you don't know me."

"Fine, I don't know you, like, we're not best friends, at least not yet," he says nudging her shoulder, "but I have seen how nice you are to everyone all the time, so why not your mom?"

"Because it's her fault. Maybe not all of it, but a lot of it. I love her. I do. But I also hate her."

What can I say to that? I can't argue with how she feels. I don't want to. People have to come to grips with their own issues; I can't force it. I just hope she realizes how much her mom means to her because she doesn't have a father worth having around and I'm no substitute for her mom. "Well, English Girl-"

"What did you just call me?" Mercedes had heard him call her that a day or so ago and found it amusing that he had given her a nickname, but didn't have the time to ask about it or the temperament.

"N-nothing?" he says nervously.

Mercedes giggles quietly. How could he think he'd gotten away with that blatant slip? "Nothing my butt you called me English Girl and not for the first time. What's that about?"

Puck shrugs his shoulders and smiles at the giggling girl beside him. He didn't think he would see such a sight so soon from her. She's beautiful. "Uh, it's what I call-called you sometimes?"

"Why?"

"Why…well, um, I didn't know your name for one so I just you know, and you always seemed to be the most excited in English class more than any other or whatever. But if you don't want me calling you that…"

"No. It's fine," she says smiling at who she is beginning to consider a friend. Mercedes remembers wishing he would look her way. That I wasn't invisible to him. I can't remember why I wanted him to see me; I just know that I did. Listening to him now somehow confirms my suspicions. Was he who I thought he was, maybe, but that didn't mean that this person sitting beside me today wasn't always there. And now he's here, really here, his physical manifestation, as well as the person I'm sure he never thought he was. It feels right. Everything about him and me feels like how things are supposed to be. Like pieces falling into place. He may be my first friend since Kurt. I know I want him to be. "English Girl, huh?"

"Yeah, it kind of just fit." And fit it did more than he knew before he even read her suicide letter.

"I guess so. It's my favorite subject."

Puck dons a cheeky grin. "I know."

English Girl and Puck talk. Nothing too heavy, she's had a rough morning and he's just tired. Fighting takes a lot of energy. He watches her as she tells him about her love for literature and writing. As time passes, she goes from confiding in him about her secret poetry stash of original works to her obsession with all things purple. It feels normal just listening to her talk. It's almost as if we've known each other forever. Silently I blame myself for not getting to know her sooner, for passing her by so many times without a glance. Maybe if I hadn't things would be different for her. Between us. I can't dwell on the past and what could have been; so, I block all distractions allowing the words spoken by Mercedes to filter in implanting along the planes of my brain.

She talks for hours. That is, until her mother shows up. When she sees her mother walk into the room her lips close and her demeanor hardens. English Girl doesn't even say goodbye to Puck when he leaves. He says a silent prayer for her as he exits hoping that for her sake she can mend fences with her mother.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to all those who reviewed and are still reading this story still have a ways to go and a few hills to climb and a few valleys to get lost in so i hope you hang in there. **

Chapter 12

As soon as Nora gets home, Puck gives his mom the letter Figgins gave him. Initially she is pissed. Beyond. Same old _Puck_ rearing its ugly head.

"Really Noah? A Fight? Kicked out of school?"

"Mom-"

"I thought we were past all of this. You were doing so good, and being there for that girl. I mean sweetie, why? Why would you do it?"

"I-"

"Noah I can't believe you've gotten yourself kicked out of school. What is this going to do to your grades? You were finally getting them up. Noah you've come so far." Nora is silenced by her son's firm hold on her shoulders; he has to get her to calm down if he's ever going to explain himself.

"Mom, chill." He stares into her eyes begging her to stop her spazzing. "If you would let me explain."

"Explain what Noah? Huh? Why you got into a fight. I don't want to hear it. There is no justifiable reason for attacking a person."

"Who said I attacked anybody?"

"No one had to say it, baby, I know you." Nora raises a challenging brow, "Who threw the first punch?"

"Okay I did, but I had to."

"No you didn't."

"Mom," Puck whines his mother's name with pleading eyes. She could be so difficult. Her instinct to accuse and ask questions later never ceased to upset her son. But this time, he couldn't just let her go with her assumptions. He needs her to understand his dilemma. They had come so close over the past year and he was not losing all of that ground because of Finn.

"What Noah? Go ahead say what you have to say." Nora eyes her son earnestly. Maybe this time he would have half a reason that made sense. She didn't want to believe her son had reverted back to his old habits.

"Okay, so…" I don't really know how to start. What can I say? What should I say? I very well can't tell her everything. She doesn't need to know all the details of why I beat up someone who I have been in hanging around since middle school.

Puck's mom tilts her head to the side as if to say she's listening. Knowing her patience is limited, he just jumps right in. "I hit him. I beat him up, mom, because I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

Sighing in frustration, Puck takes a seat on the sofa. "Mom you said you would listen."

"Just because I'm asking questions doesn't mean I'm not listening."

Her son rolls his eyes and tries to continue, "Fine. This guy he hurt English Girl-"

"Who?"

"Uh, Mercedes. It's just something I call her. Can I finish, mom?"

"I've told you about getting smart with me Noah."

"Sorry. So this guy hurt her-"

"He didn't do what I think he did, did he? Because Noah if he did you need to call the cops."

"Mom, just let me finish. Please!"

"Okay, but you do know if he did something criminal it wasn't for you to take things into your hands, the police would be the better choice, right?"

"Yes, Mom. I know that. If it were something like rape or something, I would have called the cops after I beat him up. But it wasn't like that. He did some crappy junk to her and got away with it. Did some stuff she doesn't deserve. There was no one to defend her. So I did. I know I probably shouldn't have beat him up at school-"

"Anywhere. You shouldn't have beaten him up anywhere, honey. When are you going to learn that?"

"Not finished explaining."

"Sorry, sorry, go ahead."

"Yeah, so, after seeing the mess that Mercedes is in and how he is a big part of the reason why, I just had to do it. I couldn't tell him I hated his guts and that he was wrong for what he did to the girl. I don't know how to talk things out, especially when anger is involved. I don't think I could if I tried. He needed to feel at least a fraction of what Mercedes was-is feeling because he's to blame." Puck looks up at his mom who is standing in front of him wheels turning debating her feelings and logic.

Nora doesn't condone her son's violent acts. She never has; yet, there's a piece of her that sympathizes with him. Her son has always handled his anger physically, and she's been hard pressed to break the habit. And for once, his anger is for someone other than himself. For that bit alone, she's inclined to feel a sense of pride at Puck's misguided selflessness. However, Nora couldn't just let him get away with being kicked out of school and the act itself.

"You're grounded."

"What? Mom? You can't-"

"I can, sweetie, and I am. You can't go around beating people up because they did something you don't like. Justified or otherwise. You can't go anywhere. I'm taking your keys until you go back to school, and even then, you have to come straight home after practice. Do you understand?"

Tears form in Puck's eyes. His mom doesn't understand. He can't be grounded. He has to be there for English Girl and he can't do that grounded. Unfortunately, he couldn't see himself defying his mother either. She was right they had come a long way; he didn't want to ruin that now.

Nora nearly falls on her butt when she sees her son's eyes water. She didn't think she'd been too callous; it wasn't like she was going to lock him in a dungeon or something. Yet, he seems as if she has just killed his best friend. Oh. She is hit with sudden realization as she gazes at her baby holding back tears. The girl. Flopping down in the arm chair across from her the sofa Puck is sitting on, she understands.

"Mom," his voice is soft and he's trying to mask the emotion threatening to overtake him, "please don't – I need to see Mercedes. She's depending on me Mom; I can't let her down."

Nora is torn. She wants to reprimand her son because he obviously deserves it, but punishing him is hurting him as well as this Mercedes he seems so attached to. Could she do that to either of them? She doesn't want to be the cause of any residual distress the young woman may incur from not having her son around.

"Noah, you know I can't just let you off-"

"Mom, I-"

"If you would let me finish, Noah, you would know that I'm going to let you visit the girl. But that's it. You visit her and school. Nothing more. Do you hear me?"

The tears instantly dry up and Puck rushes to his mom smothering her in a death grip of a hug. "Thank you, Mom. School and Mercedes. Got it. Won't mess up." Pulling back, he gives his mom a kiss with a loud smack.

He runs to his room to wash up and his mom heads to the kitchen to prepare dinner for the two.

After dinner, Puck's mom goes to bed leaving him to clean the dishes. Once he's done, he decides to call it a night. He is still feeling the effects of the fight; also, he has an early morning tomorrow.

Hopefully, Mercedes is in a good mood. Today I got to see a side of her that I have always wondered about. She possesses a light that I fear she doesn't know about. If only she could see herself the way I see her. If she saw what I see, she would know how valuable her life is. Hearing her say that things would be easier if she wasn't here angered me. Even now, I can feel the anger churning in me. How could she think that? I know it was tragic and I'm sounding selfish, but what happened didn't affect only her. It changed me. I can't say for certain exactly what it is, but I know I'm not the same person I was before her. She can't leave me now.

Mercedes. English Girl. I finally got to meet her. And today I finally got to _see_ her. Tomorrow maybe I'll get to know her.

**So I know it's a bit short and there's no Mercedes but the next chapter is full of Puck and Mercedes and more drama. So stay tuned and review it only takes a few seconds and it motivates me to write more and get chapters out quicker. **

**nakala**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry for the late update. but here it is hope you like. and Thanks to those of you that reviewed alerted or favorited the last chapter it really makes this writer happy to know people are reading and liking what they read.**

"Good morning Miss Jones. Today is the day. You finally get to go home, sweetie." Nurse April smiles at the teenage girl sitting in her bed regarding her with mild interest. It should be against the law for someone so beautiful to possess such lifeless eyes. "I'm going to check your vitals, and get you something in here to eat. We don't want you leaving on an empty stomach." April chuckles to herself sadly. It's no secret that this child hasn't really eaten anything since she awoke. Rumor has it, the only time she touches any food is dinner time right after her boyfriend leaves. This poor girl, how would she be once she left? Would her parents make things worse for her? If they did, that boyfriend of hers would surely be there to make up for the trouble they cause her. He's definitely been here more than the child's father over the past couple of days. She's heard nothing but good things about the young man. Her heart warms thinking of him showing up every day for his girl. "Is your boyfriend coming today? All the nurses say he's been here every day to sit with you when your mom leaves." April is too busy checking Mercedes' blood pressure and heart rate to notice the peaked interest creeping onto Mercedes' face.

Boyfriend? The only man that's been to see her for the past few days without fail is Noah, but the nurse can't be referring to him. Mercedes looks to the nurse confused.

April misreads the expression. "Oh, sweetie, you don't have to be shy. It's just the two of us girls in here." She smiles down at her patient rubbing her arm, "What was his name, now? Nate, no, it was something biblical-"

"Noah."

The older woman startles briefly.

"His name is Noah." Mercedes' soft voice floats over the silence. She doesn't know why she's spoken, but she's done it now and it didn't feel as bad as she thought it would. She eyes the young nurse standing by her bed staring at her with what seems like glee sparkling in her eyes in spite of her stunned demeanor. That's new. The other nurses look at her with unveiled pity if they look at her at all. Even the doctors have a hard time masking their pity. They avoid eye contact glancing over her never seeing her. This nurse is the first one who hasn't spoken to her with words that don't reflect the solemn glaze in their eyes.

Trying to reign in her shock, April breaks out into a big hearty laugh. "Who'd have thought mentioning your boyfriend would do the trick. Everyone's going to be so jealous when I tell them I got you to speak." Nurse April takes a breath and continues going, "Noah, yeah, that's his name. I met him the first night you were here. He loves you so much. Great boy, is he coming today?"

What is this lady talking about? Noah isn't my boyfriend, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't love me. He's only gotten to know me since I've been here. "Boyfriend?" It's not what I want to say. Not even close. I want to question why she believes such craziness, but I don't because… because…I don't want to burst her rapidly growing happy bubble. That wouldn't be nice. And she's been so nice to me.

"Yes, is he coming today?"

"I guess." I want to say yes with certainty, but the secret doubt that afflicts my nights preventing welcomed slumber forbids me. I could wake up one day and it will have become a dream. He's opened his eyes and found me.

"I think we can be sure he'll be here. Does he know you're leaving today?" Maybe she should be at the nurse's station sitting bored waiting to do her next rounds, but April sits on the bed at the teenager's legs ready to talk to the girl who's been virtually mute.

"No." I didn't even know I was leaving today.

"He's going to be incredibly excited when he hears the news. You've been talking to him; I'm sure," April winks, "why haven't you told him. You did know didn't you?"

"No."

One word answers, not the girl talk she wanted but more than she expected, and way more than her counterparts have gotten. However, this will not deter her; she is determined to get more than two words from the girl about anything. "How long have you two been together?" April sees Miss Jones' eyes alight with embarrassment.

Mercedes is about to set the record straight when her mother walks in. Seeing her daughter sitting up and a glimmer of light in her eyes brings a smile to her face. "Hey, baby, how are you doing?"

The teenager's eyes quickly shift from welcoming to cold and distant. I don't know what prompted her to speak to me. I haven't spoken to her since the first day when I woke up and that was only so Noah wouldn't leave, therefore, it shouldn't surprise her that I'm choosing to ignore her now. I hate that she has to be here. Because of her Nurse April, the only person outside Noah that I feel comfortable talking to, is leaving. I know I didn't say much, but I really enjoyed her company. She made me feel normal. She smiles the warm inviting smile she's been wearing since she entered the room before getting off of the bed and walking out of the door taking along with her my peaceful morning.

Hard icy brown eyes glare at a weak burdened woman daring her to come any closer to her than she already is. Mercedes' mother recognizes the look and resigns to the lone chair in the corner of the room as far away from her daughter as possible. She's willing to do whatever Mercedes needs even if it rips her heart to shreds and causes her insides to turn on her.

They sit in complete silence. Mother appraising her daughter, daughter ignoring her mother. The emptiness drags on for over an hour. Mercedes' breakfast is brought in, but like before she doesn't touch it. Nurse April smiles sadly at her wishing there was something she could do. She knows that if her mother wasn't present, she would have had a better chance of getting the young girl to eat. However, with her mother watching the young girl like a hawk its prey, April can't fathom catching a glimpse of the girl she saw before her mother showed up.

Caren doesn't say a word to Mercedes about her food. It's a bad sign. Her daughter doesn't know it, but it's making things worse for her. She's setting herself up for failure by shutting down. There is this Noah, who seems to have a way with her. Maybe when she gets out of the hospital he'll keep coming around; they seem to have a unique connection, and she's going to need a friend. Because she's certain it's going to be quite a while before she lets her be her mommy again.

She spots him through the door window before he makes it to the door. Caren scrambles from her seat trying to intercept her husband's entrance into the room. She upsets Merci enough; she can't let Reese in to make things worse. He's far too good at it. But she trips over her purse staggering a little, all the time it takes for Reese to walk through the door.

"Good morning, Bambi." Reese walks past his wife to stand by his emotionless daughter. He doesn't expect to see the lifeless girl before him. When he'd last seen her there was a fire ablaze in her eyes and an anger present, who cares if it was directed at him. Anger is better than nothing at all. There is nothing there now. Nothing. His heart breaks, but instead of crying the tears that so easily fill his eyes, he allows his anger to overtake him, not at himself but Caren, his wife. "What have you done to her?"

"What?"

"Just a few days ago she was talking now she's staring into space like some-some crazy person. What did _you_ do to her?" Though Reese isn't yelling the vibrato of his voice shakes Caren to her core. Intimidating her with each voiced syllable.

"It's not just me. I could say I haven't done anything, but that would be a lie. This is my fault. This is both of our faults, so don't come in here after being MIA for the past couple of days placing blame. And if you don't intend on being of any assistance to _my_ daughter I suggest you go back to wherever you've come from."

"Maybe you've drank your memory away, I don't know, but you _need _to remember that Mercedes is my daughter and I have a right to be here."

"That's the only reason you're here. So just go."

Mercedes sits in awe of her parents. Here she is on her last day in the hospital and instead of making this about her they have found a way to make this about them. However, she does give her mother some credit for finally trying to stand up to her father. But listening to them gripe only makes her feel worse. That maybe she's the reason her dad never wants to be around. Inadvertently making her responsible for her mother's drinking problem. I don't want to hear them. I shouldn't be hearing them. I can't stop the tears burning a trail down my face. I don't want to cry in front of them, but as I peek through the tears I notice that they haven't noticed anything outside of their little angry bubble, let alone me.

Wailing helplessly, Mercedes doesn't hear what her parents are screaming about, nor does she notice the young man rushing towards her. Before she's aware of his presence, Mercedes is wrapped in Puck's arms being comforted by his warm hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. Unbeknownst to either of them Caren forcefully pushes Mr. Jones out of the room to leave her daughter with the one constant she accepts in her life.

Puck shushes English Girl trying to calm her down. He's fuming. He doesn't even want to think about her parents in this moment. In an attempt to temper his anger, he focuses all his attention on the destroyed girl in his arms. "Hey, hey, it's okay." Puck tries everything and anything he can to ease the bawling, but nothing is working. Just when the vicious weeping simmers to soft whimpers Mr. and Mrs. Jones walk into the room.

As soon as Mercedes realizes that her parents are in the room, all of it ceases. The crying, the whimpers, all of it. She goes completely stiff in my arms. I lean back to look at her and what I see breaks my heart. Her eyes look dead, like she's trying to shut everything out, including me, and I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. She's supposed to trust me. I need her to look at me and show me herself. I don't want her to hide herself for anyone or any reason. I try to get her back to me by rubbing her still moist cheek with the back of my hand. She doesn't move. I grab her face turning it to me. The brown eyes I've come to search out the moment I see her seem to stare right through me. Nothing is getting out and she's letting nothing in. I wipe away the remaining tears trying to coax her back to me with pure will. But I get nothing. Releasing her face, I shift to my previous position with my arms wrapped securely around English Girl, her head resting on my chest over my heart. Once I know she's comfortable, I turn to glare at her parents, never losing my hold on Mercedes.

She watches it all play out before her eyes. The gentle touches. The concerned caresses. Caren doesn't need her PhD in psychology to see that this boy who says he just wants to be there for her daughter has deeper feelings for her than he knows. There are others. Like guilt. She couldn't miss that one; he was wearing it on his sleeve as if it were branded there for punishment the day she met him. And although she can still see it there, its light has dimmed overshadowed by a smoldering affection that she believes grows steadily with each day. The look in his eyes supplies her with evidence to the fact as he murders her and her husband without lifting a finger. She can't see anything in Merci's eyes this very moment, but it's there. The fondness that the young boy willingly expresses sparks in her daughter's eyes whenever he's near, though not as ardent. Not being able to see that little bit of life in her daughter's eyes kills her; she can only imagine what it is doing to Noah. But things are only going to get worse from here.

**So what did you think. I know there isn't much going on in this chapter, but stuff is going to pick up soon enough. so review let me know what you think.**

**nakala**


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry for the delay. I planned on updating when I finished the next chapter but no such luck only half finished with it and this has been sitting around so I decided to go ahead and post it. **

**Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited. It means so much that you are enjoying my story. **

Tears well up in Caren Jones' eyes as the hatred she has developed for her husband blossoms. When she met Reese, he wasn't as he is today. Or so she thought. There were tell-tell signs that she should have recognized, but she was too blinded by love and the fact that she, as a successful black woman on the rise, had captured the elusive successful black man. What a crock. She'd have been better off by herself, but then she wouldn't have her beautiful daughter. And she would suffer that lowlife all over again if she got to have her Merci. Her lovely daughter was worth all the heartache and pain in all the world. She'd endure it for her.

That is why she finds herself on the brink of a breakdown. She promised her daughter that she would always be there for her no matter what, but when it really matters, now, when her daughter is drowning in murky waters, she has allowed her wretched husband to take the lead in their daughter's road to recovery. Had she had full control of _her_ faculties, she would gladly be the council her daughter sorely needs; however, she's an alcoholic and an emotional wreck. She couldn't help Mercedes even if the child would let her. Because of this, Caren goes along with Reese's suggestion, but she would be the one to break the news to their daughter if it kills her and drives a bigger wedge between the once inseparable mother daughter duo. Maybe she could soften the blow.

With tears streaming down her face, the forlorn mother attempts to get her daughter's attention. "Uhm, Merci, baby. I need to tell you something."

Nothing. Mercedes does nothing. She can't do anything.

"Your dad," Reese clears his throat, "_we _think it would be best if you-when you leave today…you won't be going home, sweetie, your dad signed you into Willow Brooke the mental health facility a few miles from here. You check in today." Caren waits for her daughter to say or do something, anything.

But what she doesn't know is Mercedes is on the edge. If she gives in just a little. If she acknowledges what's happening in her surroundings she would fall apart. Crumble right before their eyes. So, she doesn't; she holds herself together with fragile fingers that threaten to break if the slightest bit of pressure is applied.

His blood pressure is through the roof. His skin has increased in temperature and black spots are bursting in front of his eyes. He is livid. This is how they decide to break the news to her. This is when they decide to tell her that she's about to be committed. His grip tightens on the catatonic girl in his arms. Puck closes his eyes trying to gain some kind of composure. He can feel his blood boiling and the anger swelling up inside of him ready to spew over. He almost succeeds with his effort, but one look at English Girl and he willingly succumbs to his rampant anger. Mercedes can't stand up for herself; he understands that. It would take more than she has to give into negativity at this point, but I have enough for the both of us and I intend to make it known. I rise from the bed breaking free from Mercedes, only to grab her hand and intertwine my fingers with hers.

"You're committing her! What is it with you two? She's not crazy." He says glaring at Caren. Puck clenches his eyes shut. He doesn't want to see her parents; looking at Mrs. Jones standing there wide-eyed and confused and Reese's smug expression causes his free hand to ball into a fist automatically. "She's perfectly fine and if you two took the time to focus on her instead of your own immature problems, you would know that." When I finish I'm looking directly in English Girl's mom's eyes, but my attention is quickly snapped away when her big mouthed father opens his lips.

"You better watch yourself, boy."

I could see the vein in his forehead bulging. He wants to hit me. I know he wants to hit me because I want to hit him, but I wouldn't do that in front of Mercedes she wouldn't want me to. "No, Mr. Jones, you watch _yourself_. Your daughter doesn't need to be hauled off to some psych ward. She needs her parents. Mrs. Jones, I thought better of you, stood up for you, but you two have your heads stuck so far up _his _butt that you can't see what's happening right in front of you." I squeeze Mercedes hand and she reciprocates. I feel my heart swell knowing she's still there and hasn't given up entirely.

She hates that she sees every intimate gesture Noah gives her daughter. She hates herself because her baby won't let her touch her as he does. Won't talk to her or look at her. She hates that she has to put her daughter in a mental institution. All the guilt squirming around in her head causes Caren to break down in a fit of tears mumbling to herself about how sorry she is, "She has to, Noah, I can't…I – I can't help her. I want to but she won't let me and I don't even know if I can. There's too much-she'll be better off-"

"Better off? You're full of it if you think she'll be better off with strangers than for you to try." Puck lowers his voice looking at Caren somberly. "She needs you."

"Her mother would only make things worse. She let you stay and now she doesn't talk. Look at her."

"Could you let your wife talk without shooting her down or trying to control what's coming out of her mouth? You are the absolute worse. Person or parent, you know that? Mercedes does talk. To me. But even if she was talking to everyone you wouldn't know because you haven't been here since day one. I mean, if she was my daughter I wouldn't have missed a day; she's not my daughter and I haven't missed a day. You just plain suck. And if I didn't care so much about your daughter I would-"

"None of that matters. None of it, boy. She's going to Willow Brooke and there is nothing _you _can do about it." The self-righteous tone Reese adopts doesn't betray his inner turmoil. He's hurt. Ashamed. He's been worse than an absent father. It would have been better if his Bambi never even knew him if it meant that his deeds didn't taint his beautiful daughter. That she wouldn't miss him when he didn't come home for days at a time. That she would have to second guess herself because he can't look at her without seeing the image of her mother reflected back at him. But he can't surrender to those emotions; he's never once in his life and he would not start now. A cruel smile curls onto his lips as he stares into the eyes of the teenager before him. He revels in the sudden dissipation of the fire flaming in the young man's eyes. The defeat. Reese has won this battle. Who is this boy that his daughter has chosen over him anyway? The thought sickens and infuriates him. His Bambi, called so because of her doe-like eyes, should want him. Should choose her daddy over some guy he's sure she hasn't know for very long. The fact that she is so welcoming to a stranger over blood is why she must go get help. His baby doesn't make sound decisions. He's doing what is best for her whether anyone else likes it or not.

Just as he is about to say more to Puck, burst his bubble a little more, Mercedes begins to stir drawing all attention to her.

Her head is downcast and her chest is rising and falling in quick succession with her short panting breaths. They hear a low rumbling growl emanating from the girl. Puck turns around to face her tightening his hold on her hand. He doesn't speak, though, for fear of agitating her further. The rumble gets louder as her breathing becomes more haggard until they can make out what she's saying. Her words come out slowly and hushed initially, "get. out. get. out. GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT!" escalating to a screech at the top of her lungs.

Puck, Caren, and even Reese make to leave the room, but one she will not let go. Feeling his grasp on her hand slacken, Mercedes tugs on his arm looking up at him with wounded eyes that speak volumes.

He lets her parents exit the room before taking residence on the bed beside English Girl, cradling her to his side.

Suffocating under the weights of her life, she releases it all onto Puck, yet again. This time she doesn't worry about what he thinks about her because she knows. She trusts him. He's the only person she wants to see her like this. So, she sits face buried in Puck's armpit crying it all out. She would need to if she had to go to Willow Brooke where she would know no one. God only knows how often she would be able to see Puck. After several minutes, Mercedes finally settles down.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm…better. Thanks." She says trying to smile.

"No problem. Though I don't know what you're thanking me for."

"You're too modest." She nudges his side causing him to grin down at her. "For letting me soak another of your shirts and standing up to my parents. The stuff you said…"

"Like I said, no problem."

"I don't want to go, Noah."

"I know, I don't want you to go either, but if it helps I'll come to visit you every day that they allow me."

She hugs him firmly snuggling deeper into his side, "I would love that." For the first time, her mind lets her feel him. His hard muscles his beating heart, which seems to be beating a bit fast. But that doesn't matter she's too worried about the pace of her heart. Is something wrong? Is she having a heart attack? It feels like it. She takes a deep breath, and her rapidly beating heart nearly stops, her olfactory senses going into overdrive. He smells of soap with a musky hint that she knows is uniquely him. Closing her eyes, she allows it to sooth her frayed nerves drawing her back to the issue at hand. "Because if I have anything to say about it, which I probably won't, Mom and Dad are coming nowhere near me."

His heart quickens and he swears mentally. He shouldn't be feeling this way. Not now. The feel of her wrapped around him shouldn't affect him so, but it does. It shouldn't, so, he tamps down his excitement willing his racing heart to calm down.

"You think you can do me a favor?"

"Depends, what is it?"

"Promise me you'll do it."

"Noah, this sounds suspect. I don't like agreeing to something I know nothing about."

"Just promise. It's nothing bad, please."

Mercedes looks up at Puck and melts under his pleading eyes. "Okay, fine, I give in."

"You have to say it. Say you promise."

"Pushy. I promise. That better. Now, what is it I just promised to?"

"You just promised to do your best to get over this stuff with your mom. I don't care about your dad. You can hate him forever for all I care, but your mom, she doesn't deserve it. She loves you and only wants the best for you."

"Noah, I don't know-"

"Just give it a try. You promised remember."

"Yeah, yeah." She thinks for a while. "Why are you so concerned with my mom and me?"

"I don't know. I guess because it's just me and my mom-"

"Just you and your mom?"

"Yeah, my dad was never really around, and the last time I saw him, I was a little kid. I don't even remember his face. But my mom she's been there the whole time. She never stopped loving me, when I gave her plenty reason. She never left me even when I was acting out. So, I just feel strongly about how people treat their moms. You only get one, and you're really lucky if you get a good one. And you have a good one," Mercedes narrows her eyes, "she has her flaws, I know, but she's good. She loves you."

"I don't know."

"She does; trust me."

"I-I guess, but I-it'll take time."

"All I ask is that you try."

She looks up at him nodding her head, "Okay."

She rests her head on his shoulder again tightening the arms that are still wrapped around his body hugging him again this time much longer than before. Ignoring the nagging in the back of her head that she shouldn't be getting this close to him so soon. He very well could walk away and she would be left alone to deal with everything without his help.

Puck places his chin on top of her head breathing in her magnolia scent getting lost in the moment. He wants to be sensitive to the situation. He shouldn't be getting so close to someone who just tried to off themselves. Not for himself but for her. She's not ready for anything like that so soon. She needs time to adjust to life again. But for now, he hugs her back letting his mind drift away where the circumstances are different and English Girl isn't going to a mental hospital when she leaves Lima General.

"Aww, look at you two. If you guys aren't the cutest couple."

The two teens startle at the voice, and jump apart, yet, find a way to keep some contact. "Hey, Nurse April?"

"Yes, Noah, hello, how are you doing today?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"I'm doing great, I got Miss Jones, here, to speak to me when nobody else could besides you," she says with a wink, "and I get to check her out. Are you ready Mercedes?"

"Not so much."

April frowns at the response.

"Her parents are checking her into Willow Brooke today."

"Oh. I'm so sorry honey. But I'm sure it won't be so bad with this fine young man visiting you every day."

They both blush but don't say anything. Neither of them knows what to say. They aren't together and their friendship is fledgling, but both would be fooling themselves if they said the thought hasn't crossed their minds. There is a definite connection between them; however, it is too soon for them to define. It would be rash and reckless. So they ignore it because for now she needs him and he wants to be there for her.

April eyes the teenagers who are still touching hands despite their distance. And odd bunch. Clearly in love but too shy to show it. "I hate that you don't want to go, but you have to, so, how about you hop into this wheelchair and let me wheel you out. I saw your parents in the hall and they said they'd be waiting for you outside."

Puck breaks the contact we have been maintaining since he entered the room he stands up to allow me access to the wretched wheelchair I'm supposed to ride out of here in. Except I refuse to move. I just look up at Noah questioningly. It takes him a second; he's confused, but just as he always seems able to read my mind, he deciphers what I want.

"Uh, Miss April, do you think it will be okay if I rolled Mercedes out."

"Sure, that'll be fine. I'll be outside waiting on you two." Nurse April walks out of the room smiling. Oh to be young and in love.

Mercedes eyes the wheelchair dreading being wheeled out as if she's lost the use of her limbs. Puck catches the leery expression. "Aww, come on. It's policy, and you get me to shove you around instead of some nurse."

"And that makes it better how?"

"Because you'll be the girl being pushed around by some crazy hot guy, which translates into cool and not the other way around with the nurse."

"O—kay. I take back what I said earlier. Someone is mighty full of themselves."

"Never said I wasn't, but you got to do it; it's regulation or something."

"How do _you_ know that?"

"My mom told me once, I think, but it's true. So you gonna hop in?"

"Yeah, in a minute?"

"Sure. Take your time." Puck strolls over to fill the space near Mercedes. Sitting there he wonders if he would have ever gotten a chance to know Mercedes as he does now. If not for that ill-fated day, would he at some point have gotten over his hang-ups, broke away from the crowd and spoken to English Girl? I don't know. I would like to think I would have but who's to say. All that matters is that I'm here for her now.

His forearm lies just millimeters away from her own. She can feel the warmth of his skin as if it belongs to her. She's going to miss this. Seeing him every day. Him being there whenever she needed him. A distant part of her wishes that they could have become friends before her attempt on her life. Maybe she wouldn't have ever fallen in love with Finn and maybe she wouldn't have felt like throwing her life away. But the better part of her knows there was no chance of that happening in this past or that future. She detests the thought and the light it shines on Puck, the crude realization it places on her burgeoning friendship with him, which only happened because he saved her life. Had he not been there for her that day she might only be English Girl to him and he that dumb jock to her. Or she would be dead. So, contrary to how she feels about why they are now friends; she is grateful she has him all the same.

"You ready yet?"

Taken from her thoughts, Mercedes nods in affirmation, and climbs into the wheelchair. Puck follows behind her grabbing the handles on the chair pushing her hesitantly toward the door. He doesn't realize he's barely moving until Mercedes questions him about it.

"Hey, I'm okay; you know we can go a little faster, right?"

"Uh, oh. Yeah." He speeds up only to slow down again finally stopping. Standing behind Mercedes, Puck stuffs his hand into his pocket immediately wrapping his hand around the worn paper. Anxiety fogs his mind. He has to tell her about the letter. She hasn't asked, probably hasn't thought of it, but he feels that she should have it. Should face her demons. Maybe not today, but she should eventually. "Uh, English Girl?"

"Yeah?" She turns around to look up at him, the nickname making a slight smile grace her face.

He avoids her gaze and moves to stand in front of her. Going with the Puck approach, he pulls the letter from his jean pocket thrusting it into Mercedes' face. She eyes him confused, one eyebrow raised, head tilted to the side.

"Uh, I know – well, it's – uhm, you wrote a letter?"

Recognition takes over her features. Mortification replaces it. She can feel the sting of tears in her eyes. He's read it; she knows. Mercedes doesn't say anything. What does she say? Things have not progressed to a place where she can openly talk about _all _of the things that caused her to want to end it. She's not ready for that, so she just looks at the letter as if it were the plague without uttering a sound.

The conflict warring within English Girl registers with him. He is aware that this could possibly put a dent in what it is that they have, could cause her to shut down, and close him out, but he promised to be there, to help. So he is.

"I don't really know what you're thinking, but you're _probably_ wondering why I have it still or at all, and why I haven't given it to you. I guess I was waiting for the right time – I didn't want to spring it on you and it upset you – though you seem pretty freaked right now, but I don't know, I just thought now would be the best time." He's rambling, he knows it, but she's looking at him with an expression he can't read so in spite of wanting to shut up, he knows he has more to explain. Taking her hand and squatting in front of her, he tells her what he thinks she needs to hear. "I know seeing this letter brings back all of these feelings and memories, like reliving your hurt. But I believe that one day you'll look at this and the urge to hurl won't be there because you have overcome all the junk that hurt you in the past." He pulls a broken pocket watch from his coat pocket. "My dad gave me this the last time I saw him. Days later I broke it because he had lied to me essentially abandoning me. For a long time, I hated the site of this thing," he says turning it over in his hands, "hated how it made me feel when I saw it, but as time went on and with my _mom's_ help, I saw it for what it was, my dad saying goodbye. He gave me all that he could give me. So now I just remember my last day with him and how happy I was. It hurts. It will always hurt but not like before. Not ever as much as before."

Mercedes wraps her hand around the letter Puck is holding, but before she can pull her hand back, her hand is opened and the broken pocket watch is placed atop the letter. "Whenever you feel like the pressure is getting too much or you're hurting too much just remember with time it will get better. That you _are_ stronger than your past."

A tear streams down her face and she turns her head from the boy in front of her. She's grateful he doesn't say anymore and moves to push her towards what she feels is going t be the highest hurdle she has ever attempted to jump.

Rolling through the sliding doors to the outside, she is faced with her parents still arguing, unaware that she has finally left that horrible room. Her only comfort is the smiling face of Nurse April and Puck's reassuring hold on her shoulder. Once they reach the nurse, Puck stops pushing and Mercedes climbs out of the chair. She gives April the warmest smile the lady has ever seen. To the girl's surprise, the nurse wraps her in a bone crushing hug. "Don't let this one go. He loves you very much and wants to be there for you, so, let him. Things will be much easier with his help." Mercedes nods her head returning the hug. When they separate Nurse April takes the wheelchair and bids them both a goodbye.

Glancing in the direction of her parents, she freezes. These two people who are responsible for my existence can't be bothered to set aside their difference to make this as pleasant an experience as possible for me. Noah has no idea how much his presence means to me. If not for him…I don't want to think about it. Clutching the watch in my hand, I allow my thoughts to focus on the person standing behind me. Spinning around, I bury my face in his chest embracing him as tightly as my arms permit. I need him to feel my gratitude because I fear that if I try to express myself verbally I wouldn't be able to hold it together.

"Mercedes!"

"Reese leave them alone."

Mercedes ignores her father's call continuing to hug Puck. When she untangles herself, his hands find her face cupping each cheek her hands rest on his hips. "Don't worry, okay. I'll be there every day that I can. I promise."

"Mmhm, I know." Mercedes whispers; her eyes boring into Puck's.

"Mercedes! Let's go. We have to check you in before four. Hurry up. I'm sure he'll be around in a week when they allow visitors," her father says arrogantly.

She jerks around fuming at her father. She would have to go an entire week without her _only_ support system. She sheds silent tears. Her body trembles with her sniffles and she feels like she's about to collapse. Then as if he'd read her mind, she feels his strong hand grasp her shaking one stepping beside her. "Hey, everything is going to be okay. As soon as the week is up I'll be there. I know it seems like forever, but it's just a week. It'll be over before you know it." Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispers, "Don't let them get to you. And don't forget what you promised me." He's angry. So angry he could kill, but he has to be strong for English Girl. If that means smothering his anger to make her feel better, he will do it gladly.

For a moment, Mercedes' breath hitches and her heart flutters. The feel of his warm breath that oddly smelled of chocolate playing over her ear causes her stomach to lurch as if she were falling. Not wanting Puck to notice she quickly gathers herself. He couldn't know how pathetic she truly is. "I won't. Will you walk me to the car?"

"Of course, anything to further annoy your lousy dad."

"What about me?" she asks in jest.

"I'd do anything for you."

**Hope you liked it. Did or didn't let me know leave a review, favorite or follow. **

**nakala**


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm back if you read my other stories you know things have been difficult for the past couple of months, but now I am back and trying to stay on top of the many stories posted and unposted that I am writing at the time. **

**I want thank all that have reviewed, favorited, followed it makes me happy just seeing the alerts in my inbox. SO HUGS AND KISSES FOR ALL. **

**A little tidbit for the next couple of chapters this chapter is all Mercedes the next all Puck and somewhere in the near future I am thinking there will be a chapter that is all Finn. Idk let me know what you think. **

I lay on my bed in my room. My room. I have been here for a week. The first week of the rest of my life, or so my doctors say. Everyone here seems to have a limitless well of self affirmations to offer, words that mean less than nothing to me because I would rather have succeeded in taking my life than to listen to insincere, unimaginative platitudes. I can get that from my parents. It's utter ridiculousness. How does anyone expect me to get better when I've been deprived of the only person who's more concerned for me than even I am?

They took his father's watch away from me upon my arrival. The doctors thought that it would pose a problem if things turned for the worse. They didn't want anything in my possession that could possibly cause me harm. Foolish of them. Had I had the memento that Noah gave me, I would have the anchor that I desperately need to bind me to this physical world. My mother took it home for me, for safe keeping. I wish that it was here with me. My nights wouldn't be so dark with that small ray of light.

Staring at the ceiling, I can't shake the feeling that the journey ahead is going to be more treacherous than yellow bricked. I have no idea how long I am slated to be in this mental _stabilizing _institution; how well I have to be before my parents, or more specifically, my father deems it suitable for me to return home. But I know that I can't do it without Noah. Each day drags on as if the earth has purposely stopped rotating on its axis for hours upon hours. The sky hasn't held the sun for seven solemn days. The weather seems to have fed from my trough of despair. I have felt myself plummeting into the darkness I have fought off with fragile hands with every rising moon and setting sun. I held my fractured pieces together those days in the hospital with the thought of Noah. His guaranteed return. His touch. Days pass without him, and the memory of his comforting embrace lingers in my mind, a phantom that haunts me mercilessly. I find myself imagining him beside me radiating the strength he secretly wields only to be assaulted with realization that I am alone. He told me that it's only a week; it'll be over before I know it, but without him here to confirm that I should exist, I have begun to fade.

Not an entirely mindless feat given the amount of sessions I have to attend. However, I'm a quick learner and to avoid the extra sessions and medication, I put on my face of indifference pulling from a bank of answers that neither answer nor evade the list of unyielding questions directed toward me.

The amount of times I find myself seated in a circle with others or in front a doctor with a folder and notepad take up my mornings and some nights. It's nearly nonstop. Every morning without fail I have my individual with Dr. Rankin, the resident guru. He's a nice enough guy, but I can tell he's been doing this for far too long. Dr. Rankin lacks heart plain and simple. He's going through the motions, which if I'm honest with myself, I don't exactly care much because it means I can ignore the reason I'm here.

Yet, the multiple group sessions smash it in my face for hours three times a week. Monday. Wednesday. Friday. Survivor's group, suicide group, second chance group, loving yourself group, group group. There's a group for anything a person could possibly need. It's in these sessions that I can't check out and pretend I don't have any problems. Listening to the others, the pain they feel intensifies the hurt coursing through my veins living within in me. In a way, it's like their problems are my problems. Their words are a mirror reflecting my battered wounded image back to me in the highest definition. Her daddy doesn't love her, neither does mine. His parents broke up, and it's all his fault; if it wasn't for me, my parents would still be happy. She doesn't know her father and became promiscuous looking for love in all the wrong places but the emptiness never seems to disappear. It was the solitude that did her in. That, along with the bullying and incessant name calling. I gave Finn my body hoping he would accept my heart. I gave him my body because I didn't want to be alone. I gave him my heart.

Finn has a part of me I have no idea how to get back. Often times, my mind is too preoccupied with thoughts of Noah to remember Finn, but after group, he's all I think about. I wonder how or why I allowed myself to enter into a relationship with him. Why it was so easy for me to surrender myself to him without question. Why I didn't know he would break me. I analyze the conversations we had looking for any sign that should have given me a clue as to his true motives. Nothing. I never find one word or gesture that serves as proof. It eats away at me; I must be missing something, but there is nothing there. Nothing that keeps me from make-believing that he didn't break my heart. There is nothing there that hinders me from wishing I could see him one more time. Hope that he would come see me and we would talk as he held me just like old times. Times before he took my virginity and walked out on me. I loathe my existence. How despicable that I yearn to be near the very straw that broke my spirit. Logically I know it's unhealthy, crazy even, but I can't help myself. He was my first boyfriend and lover.

A tiny voice in the corners of my mind tells me that I should tell someone how I feel. I should tell someone what happened, but I can't. I won't. I will not be like these people who freely air their dirty laundry for all to see. I will not be them. I will continue to vanish into the background never open my mouth and never speak up. I don't have to because no one sees me, no one notices me.

Dr. Pilson doesn't even acknowledge me. I see her Tuesday and Thursday after dinner, which they make us eat at six. The good doctor doesn't speak; she just stares at me for an hour. I don't know what her deal is, but it's creepy. The tan, middle-aged woman watches me over her reading glasses only turning away to make notes in my folder. I've only seen her twice but each time was the same. I sit in the comfy chair across from her in her more rigid one watching me like I'm an animal at the zoo. This leads me to conclude that I can expect much of the same in the foreseeable future. No complaints from me, at least she doesn't badger me and that serves me well.

My only consolation currently is that tomorrow is the first day I can have visitors. Thankfully, I don't have to dread the coming of my sad parents. The moment I arrived here I informed the staff that seeing them right now would not be conducive to my health, which is all truth based off the last time I saw them. They are not coming because they can't. This is the only stipulation I have regarding visitation. Everyone besides my parents is welcome.

There is only one person I wish to see, however, just Noah. In my heart, I know I'll see him tomorrow, but just when I have my mind convinced in this assumption I fall asleep and my dreams snatch my confidence from me. It's been a week. After a week things could have changed. He could have come to his senses and wants nothing to do with a loser like me. Noah is sane and popular; he doesn't need me like I need him. He doesn't need a burden like me latching onto him dragging him down with my issues.

Fear grips me in those waking nights. Jerks me from my slumber, keeps my eyes open. What if he has forgotten me? He wakes up one morning and I'm no longer on his mind. The image of me has been replaced with something more important. He has forgotten me. I don't know how I would fare if he wasn't in my life anymore. I don't think I can take it.

To keep out the nightmares and terrors I will not close my eyes. I will not submit to a night's sleep of bedtime torture. My innermost fears will not have the opportunity to harass me in my sleep when I can keep my lids peeled and mind running. I will not concede to nightmares which steal my hope tonight. He will come. He will come. He will come. Tonight, I know he will come.

**Don't forget to review. **

**nakala**


	16. Chapter 16

**So I'm kind of back, I am in between jobs but also starting summer semester for school which entails an upper level biology lab and a couple of other classes of which it is mandatory that I make A's in. So like I said, I'm kind of back and kind of posting. **

**If you haven't checked it out yet, I added a little extra info to the previous chapter. I had to fix some things with continuity and it mentions the watch that Puck gave Mercedes before she leaves for the institution. So check that out it's in the first half like the second paragraph or something like that. **

**Also, those of you reading or used to read 5 years it's on hiatus because I am going to rewrite that fic I'm not happy with it; it was my first fic, and I made all kinds of mistakes that make it difficult to continue it and be happy with the product, but someday it will be redone because it's like my firstborn. **

**And to those reading TMW, I'll be updating that as soon as I get a grasp on Sam's pov the way that I want it. Good news with that is I'm like five chapters ahead so once that is done I'll be able to post other chapters more quickly. **

**So this is all Puck and his pov and all first person. **

It's been a week since I've seen her. Seven days. My suspension has been served, and along with returning to school, I finally get to go see English Girl.

I thought I would be happy about this, but there have been too many scenarios playing out in my enemy mind to be anything more than hesitant. For the longest time, I tried to keep my mind occupied with things other than Mercedes and what may happen when we meet again. No luck. I think about her all the time, good and bad.

I worry about her, if she's holding up or gone catatonic like before at the hospital. I wonder how things are with her mom or if her dad has come to his senses and stepped up. I just worry. Mercedes is the toughest cookie I've ever seen; it may not look that way to anyone else, but she is. Her stubbornness proves how strong her will can be. Hadn't she kept everyone else out, except me, without any inclination of letting them in? If only she would use that strength to get better. I hope she is. I fall asleep at night hoping to see the English Girl before high school and Finn. If she put her mind to getting better, I know she would be out of the institution in no time.

I shake my head as I get into my trusty old pick-up truck. School then Mercedes. Once I crank the ignition, I search through the stack of CDs scattered across the seat beside me until I find Coldplay. I pop it into my CD player wishing I had a more modern car so that I didn't have to lug all these CDs around. I flip through the songs until I land on the one song I want to listen to. _Paradise. _I put the song on continuous loop and before I know it I'm at school. Not really looking forward to that.

My day drags on just like I thought it would. Though, I want nothing more than for my classes to end, they all seem extended beyond time. I just want this school day to be over.

English is the worst. It's been nearly two weeks since she's been in this class, but it hasn't gotten easier. I hate that I keep looking toward her empty desk each time expecting to get a glimpse of the side of her eager face. Without Mercedes there to answer all the questions, it's obvious that even Mr. Carlton is having a hard time getting through his lesson without the reliable hand he could always call on. My other classes offer me an ounce of peace. They aren't haunted by the ghost of her presence. But the halls…

No one has mentioned Mercedes outright. But the halls…I hear murmurs in the halls and a few times I catch a couple of teachers whispering in a huddle. Apparently, they were given details but not enough to know "why the poor girl" would decide to do something so desperate with "such a bright future," and "inside the school no less." It's been a feat to keep my temper under control. These people know nothing about English Girl. They don't deserve the right to breathe her air, let alone speak her name. And I can't fathom how they selectively forgot her daily torture at the hands of the jocks and cheerleaders. It's a wonder she's the only one to attempt suicide at this school in such a public way.

Because everyone knows that someone tried to commit suicide, Principle Figgins gave Pillsbury the freedom to pimp oddly specific pamphlets about suicide. I'm glad to say I got her in first period. I have about five pamphlets on depression, bullying, and suicide and a couple of cards from some hotlines. That lady's a kook if ever I saw one.

After years of watching her and now finally being a part of her life, I would never deny the friendship that we are developing. However, I am beyond appreciative that no knows about our connection. If anyone did know, I'm deadly sure that I wouldn't have made it to my last period class before getting kicked out again for busting the head of some chump who undoubtedly would have misspoken about English Girl. My friend.

I sit on the bench on the sideline of the practice field attending a practice I'm being forced to attend, despite the fact that I'm not practicing nor am I going to play in the upcoming game, thinking about Mercedes.

Has she changed her mind? Does she even want to see me? I wasn't there before; so, maybe she doesn't want me around now.

The thoughts aren't new.

Over the course of the week away from Mercedes, my mind has devised multiple reasons as to why she wouldn't want to see me again. Most prevalent is the frightening imagination that she has come to her senses and, even though I've apologized, can't forgive me for my role in her dark circumstances. I have weathered many a restless night because of dreams tainted with the sight of her lips twisted in a snarl directed toward me. I even battle evil daydreams of the same nature. No matter how much I try to ignore them, there are four more for every hopeful cogitation of how our first encounter since the hospital will be. But like the hard-headed punk I can be, I push those thoughts aside focusing on the few good ones.

The light brightening her dim eyes every time I entered her room. Her arms wrapped around my torso with her head buried in my chest. The feel of my arms around her soft body.

I use these thoughts to beat away any that oppose the beauty of our friendship.

When football practice is finally over, I push everything out of my mind save getting to Mercedes as fast as I can. I'm assaulted by the stench of stale sweat and God knows what else as I rush into the locker room. I remove my gear, shower, and clear the area as quickly as possible. I don't want to be around these losers any longer than I have to. I'm halfway to the girl's restroom on the lower level when it hits me. I can't go in there. That's where I found her. I can never go in there again.

So, I squeeze my lids tight over my stinging eyes backing into a wall for support. My breath comes in shallow spurts. I can feel the ball of anguish coagulating in my throat, but I force it down swallowing the self-pity I don't deserve. When I have control, I turn around and bolt up the stairs and back into the locker room where I finish doing my _business. _The smell and the fact there are others here, besides me, really chafe, but I can't see myself following my old routine ever again. Looks like I'll have to tolerate this hell. I figure, in the future, I should be able to undress, shower, redress, and drop a deuce in ten minutes because that's my limit. I hate the douche bags I have as teammates, and since I beat the punk out of Finn, none of them even look at me.

No sweat off my nose.

I walk briskly through the halls toward the exit nearest my truck without incident. Just as I am about to exit the building, I hear my name being called in the distance. But I don't talk to any of these losers anymore, so, I keep walking to the parking lot. I've made it to my car and opened my door when I see a shadow casted.

"Puck…"

Finn.

I don't turn around or answer him. I proceed to open my door to my vehicle.

"Hey, I just want to ask you something. That's it."

I still don't say anything, but I do close my door and turn around, arms folded, face set in a strict scowl.

"I know we're not-"

"Ask the question."

Finn visibly flinches at my tone. Idiot. Didn't I just kick his butt last week? He shouldn't be shocked if I decided to crack my knuckles over his face simply for talking to me.

"What's going on with Mercedes?"

Clearly the dude has brain damage or something because I told him one: not to talk to me, and two: that I beat him up because of Mercedes. All that should have translated into never mention Mercedes. Guess I was wrong because Finn is actually standing here expecting an answer from me that doesn't involve a fist.

I'm not going to speak with Finn about anything concerning English Girl. He's lucky I'm in a hurry to go see her because he should have his teeth knocked out just for saying her name. Shaking my head and fighting the urge to do the deed, I turn away from him, get in my truck, and drive off.

**So what did you think? Hope you liked it, and as soon as I can I will post the next chapter. **

**Thanks for reading. **

**nakala**


	17. Chapter 17

**Special thanks to all those that reviewed for the previous chapter. **Guest, Hazel08, zeejack, jollyrancher-25, gdhill, carebearcaryn21. **Thank you guys so much for taking the time to let me know what you think. So HUGE cyber hugs for each of you!**

"Miss Jones, you have a visitor," the orderly informs the teenager as he stands in her doorway. Sluggishly, she rises from her bed following him. They walk to the area where all visitors have to wait after being checked in, which involves borderline invasive protocol to ensure the health and safety of the patients. When she arrives, her feet stop moving at the sight of him.

He's standing at the window looking out over the gardens. His hands are tucked in his pockets, but despite his cavalier stance, he seems unsettled. The repetitive clench and release of his jaw is the only indication of his current state. Nervous.

Mercedes had battled sleep and fatigue and won. Her night had been spent staring at the ceiling replaying each moment, good and bad, she has shared with him over and over in her mind since she came to. The effort to force herself to believe that he would keep his word cost her a night of sleep, but it was worth it. Every part of her mind had told her he wouldn't come, but her heart refused to listen. Now, standing less than 20 feet away from him, her eyes burn and emotion swells in her throat clogging it.

She doesn't think he knows how much he means to her. She thinks he couldn't handle it if he did. Gazing at Puck, her lifeline, she feels the burdens that press upon her shoulder lessen, if only a fraction. Eyes fixed on Puck; she wills her feet to move. Her voice to speak. But nothing happens. She's paralyzed by the actual presence of the corner stone holding her walls together. He's beautiful. His spirit. His heart. Noah is beautiful.

Mercedes becomes aware of the moisture on her cheek after the tears have been falling for a time. Feebly, she swipes at the persistent stream coursing down her face. She doesn't want him to see her like this. Her eyes so tired the light has no chance of brightening them and her skin pale. All that is bad enough, now add to that a sniffling nose and dim eyes reddened and puffy. She must look horrible. However, the moment the thought works its way through her mind, a memory of her huddled into his chest broken and damaged overrides all embarrassment. Puck has seen her like this before and didn't seem to take much notice. He wasn't concerned with her appearance just the heart that she willingly placed in his hands. Hands that hold it with care.

She commands herself to take that elusive step toward him, but her limbs refuse to budge. Mercedes urges her voice to break forth from within her; yet, her constricted throat blocks its exit. In spite of her frustration, her heart is full of happiness because he came. He came for her.

After being molested by the staff, Puck was told that English girl would be right out. He's been standing at this big window overlooking some kind of garden for about five minutes, and still, she hasn't shown. A couple more minutes pass before he decides to ask the receptionist what the holdup is. Turning around in route to the front desk, he sees her and almost trips over his feet as they seem to have forgotten the mechanics needed to take proper steps.

She's standing a few yards away. Her big brown eyes bear down on him brimming with so much emotion he can't help that he's missed nearly every one that has flickered across her face. He thinks his heart has stopped. For more reasons than one, he can't feel his heart beating in his chest. Mercedes hasn't turned him away and she's standing a short distance from him.

For a second, he panics because she's staring at him mutely without advancing toward him. Immediately realizing that English Girl would have never shown if she didn't want to see him, he calms down. He'd probably be blacklisted if that were the case. Puck parts his lips to say something, but the sound stalls in his throat. He's missed her more than he thought. He hadn't realized how much until now. So consumed with worry, he hadn't taken time to process anything else he's felt concerning the girl.

Not now.

Now he knows he's missed her laughter. The smell of magnolia and vanilla. He's missed her pressed into his side. He's missed the way she looks at him. He's missed her beautiful face. And her soft skin. Her. He's missed _her_.

Puck scrutinizes Mercedes. She looks exhausted. He assumed she would look better. More rested away from her parents and the added stress they bring, but she doesn't. She looks worse. Her eyes are framed in dark circles and her skin is pale as if the life's been drained right out of her. From the distance he sees a faint shimmer on her cheeks, which appears to be a trail of tears.

Anger.

Puck pushes past the immense tear-jerking heartache stabbing him at the sight of her withered state straight toward white hot anger, an emotion he can handle. He's angry with himself for all the reasons he can't seem to reconcile. Puck is angry with the doctors whose sole responsibility is to prevent her from sinking deeper, with her parents most of all - her mother to a lesser extent - for forcing her to stay here. Focusing on the anger allows him to ignore the tingling in his eyes that foreshadow tears. He will not cry. He has to be strong for her. For English Girl, he will be strong.

Running a hand through his unruly mohawk, he clears his throat, "Hey." It comes out timidly, and he hates himself for sounding so unsure.

Mercedes awakens when the sound of Puck's voice reaches her ears. The trance she's entered ripped to shreds. She wipes the tears from her cheeks and takes a deep breath in preparation to respond; however, the boy who hasn't made any strides to be nearer to her opens his mouth hindering any progress she may have made.

"Uh, the nurse or whoever told me you haven't been outside…you want to…go outside." She's staring blankly at him, and it's unnerving. He's floundering and he doesn't understand why. The last time he saw her things had evolved to a level where they seemed more friends than strangers. Yet standing in front of her, he feels like he's looking at someone he doesn't know.

Her foot slides forward a millimeter, undetectable to the naked eye. "Okay." Mercedes speaks, but unlike a week ago her voice isn't strong but harsh from disuse, a manifestation of the promise to herself to only speak when spoken to. Her response doesn't elicit limb movement as she had expected. Her body remains rigidly waiting for…something.

Unmoved, he stands waiting for her to join him so they can walk out together. It disturbs him that she doesn't move despite her acceptance of his invitation, which moves him to look beyond the forest to find the tree. Puck tries to dig deeper and finds that the eyes peering in his direction aren't with him. They are focused on some distant metaphysical realm he hopes to reach.

"Come on, the garden seems like a cool enough place." Before his mind reclaims control, his hand reaches out to take hold of the hand of the girl still standing too far away for his liking. However with the time allotted because of their distance, he quickly flicks his outstretched hand over to gesture for her to follow him.

His hand was opened to her, but her body, mind, or both - she doesn't know - forbid the desires of her heart. To her heart, he's Noah, the one person who held her together. Nevertheless, her mind registers that he isn't. His mannerisms aren't as sure; he seems hesitant with her like she's a fractured piece of glass that he's afraid to touch. Or maybe the sight of her all wilted and on the edge of sanity has finally given him the perspective needed to realize how messed up she really is. How can she truly know? Currently she doesn't care because he's here. Pulling herself from her thoughts, she takes a deep breath and releases a sigh of relief when her feet finally follow her orders.

Puck waits for her to reach his side before he turns to match her stride towards the garden.

They walk in uncomfortable silence. Puck has no idea what to say, while Mercedes has so many things roaming through her mind that she doesn't know where to start.

So they don't.

The two stroll around the garden quietly. Through the rose bushes, past the water lily pond, and around the assorted flower garden of tulips, irises, and poppies to a lone oak tree near the perimeter of the property. When they reach the tree, Puck sits with his back leaning against the trunk. Without thinking, Mercedes falls into place at his side close enough to feel him near but not close enough to touch, her posture taut.

She stares out over the lively garden ignoring the noise in her head, rather, training her focus on the quiet calm of her surroundings. She doesn't feel the need to speak. She doesn't need her company to say anything. Talking would only erase the world she is carefully constructing with her imagination. A place where she never attempted to take her life, and she and Puck are the best of friends, since freshman year. A world where her problems don't exist and she doesn't have to be afraid of being alone because her best friend is always there when she needs him.

The young woman wishes she had ventured out here sooner; the escape would have offered her a reprieve the cold white walls and antiseptic smell of the halls withhold from her. Mercedes' stiff posture deflates; she will rest in the peace that she feels, the freedom that is invading her mental captivity.

Puck notices the crease in English Girl's forehead smooth itself out and feels the brush of her arm against his as she relaxes into the tree. Though he doesn't know what to say to her, he knows that he can and he will. The silence is starting to wreak havoc on his nerves, and if he doesn't speak now he might not say anything before he has to leave her. "Why haven't you been out here? It seems like the best place to be besides…" Well no one ever said he was a wordsmith.

Mercedes turns her head to look at him, but he doesn't return the gesture. She surmises that the embarrassment coloring his cheeks is what's keeping him from facing her. The sight of him rosy cheeked and afraid to glance her way coaxes a little smile onto her face. "You know, I was asking myself the same thing when we made that lap around the pond." Taking her eyes from his face, she looks around at the garden. "It's a breath of fresh air," Mercedes whispers into the wind. She's very aware of the pun she's made, however, doesn't see the need to point out that it wasn't intended. Puck probably knows she didn't mean to.

A few beats of silence pass between them before either of them speaks again.

"What are you doing about school? I mean, you've been out for, like, two weeks, and you…" He stops abruptly midsentence finally chancing a peep at English Girl hoping he hasn't stuck his foot too far down his throat. When he meets her eyes there's no sign of consternation, or any emotion for that matter, so, he continues. "…may be here for a while."

Her expression doesn't change. Her face maintains its blank façade. "I haven't started yet, but my parents hired me a tutor or something. They don't want me to get behind; so, they unregistered me. I'll be doing homeschooling starting next week."

Puck notes her dry tone. What is he doing wrong? Better yet, what has this place done to her? He can't seem to find the Mercedes Jones he caught glimpses of in the hospital. The one that lit up when he walked into the room and confided in him. Sitting beside him is the shell of that person. Puck wants to grab her by her shoulders and shake her until she resurfaces wearing piercing eyes and a snarl. That would be better than this person beside him. But he couldn't try tough love with this person. This person looks like she would crumble into dust to drift away in the wind if he looked at her the wrong way.

Raging waters attack her airwaves, while thunder and lightning battle in her stomach. She's a ship lost at sea tossed by tidal waves and battered by the elements. Her heart's fingers reach toward him for rescue, but fall short as they are snatched into the torrent that is her mind. Mercedes dare not open her mouth for fear of leashing the unnatural disaster into his unsuspecting hands. She must answer his questions and keep herself under control because to allow him to be privy to her innermost demons would send him running for the hills. A darker place holds her prisoner, torments her, and weakens her will. She can't tell him that things have gotten worse. He can't know how broken she's truly become.

Periodically, Puck furtively peers at English Girl. The furrow in her brow has returned, and she seems as weary as she appeared in the building. He's given her some time to be with her thoughts, but that has worsened her mood. Though he's sympathetic to her plight, he will not permit her to wallow in it. He has to get her talking. Puck has to get her to open up to him because if the last thirty minutes are any indication to her behavior over the past week; she's been holding it all inside. He fears that if too much pressure is applied the dam will break, and he worries if she will be standing in the aftermath. Despite his concerns, he has to try. "You look tired. Late night poker games with the orderlies?"

Slowly, she turns her head in his direction, Puck's attempt at veiling his concern falling on stony ground. She wonders who taught him the art of subtlety. Shaking her head she answers, "I haven't been getting much sleep."

"Bad roommate?"

"I sleep alone."

"Nightmares?" It has to be something.

"No. I don't dream."

For the first time all evening, he stares at her. Not any old stare but really looks at Mercedes, takes her in. She looks as if she hasn't slept in at least a day, and her face seems slimmer. Maybe she's not eating. He knows for sure that she isn't sleeping. Is there something she's withholding from him? Of course, she is. She's talking to him as if she doesn't trust him. English Girl is hiding from him, but he can't just give up on her. He has to try. "Do you like it here? I mean…I don't know."

Mercedes can literally feel the tug and pull. Demon versus self. She wants to lay it all on the table, free herself from this bondage, but the hold over her supersedes that of her own. However, imprinted on her heart and deep in her mind is the mark Puck has made by simply being concerned. "Would you like being surrounded by crazy people or being interrogated by doctors on a daily basis?"

Her tone wasn't exactly harsh, but it did sting a little. And okay, that was a stupid question, but Puck is grasping at straws and Mercedes isn't giving him an ounce of help. Maybe if he keeps digging, he'll make some progress. "So, that's a big fat no." He hopes to have evoked a smirk from his troubled friend at the least, but gets nothing. Onward and forward, he could really be adamant if he wanted. "Have you seen your mom?" He didn't think it was possible, but her stiff posture stiffens even more.

"No…I told the staff that I didn't want to see her. I don't think seeing her right now would be conducive to my progress."

"Mercedes." He can't mask the reprimanding tone, doesn't want to, and he relishes in the slight narrowing of her eyes in response that disappears as soon as it shows.

After a moment of silence, Mercedes says an octave above a whisper, "I get a letter from her everyday…I haven't opened any of them." Regardless of her efforts the anguish she's been suppressing seeps into her voice.

Observing the glaze coating Mercedes' eyes, Puck doesn't press her any further. She will, in time, come to understand her mother's love. "What about your dad?"

"Nothing. Not that I care. I didn't expect anything from him anyway. In the past two months I've seen him a total of fifteen times. It seems fitting that he would put me in here and then not check in on his investment."

He's not sure if she's aware, but it doesn't escape him that the sound of her voice doesn't match the intent of her words. English Girl is torn up over her parents and their lack of effort on her behalf. Especially her dad.

The tears threatening to spill from her eyes causes Mercedes to turn her face away from the teenager watching her attentively. With all the strength she can muster she wills them to dissipate. This is not what she wants to do. She doesn't want to be the girl that loses it over everything. Therefore, she decides it's time she take over the conversation maybe then she won't feel like falling apart. Putting on a mask of apathy, Mercedes turns back to Puck. "Has your suspension ended?" Quite the non sequitur, but she can't think of anything else to say. All she knows is she can't keep talking about herself.

Confused, Puck nods his head. That was out of left field. "Yeah, first day back today."

Silence. How did she forget how to do this? She's a great conversationalist. Her mother has told her on more than a few occasions that she has the gift of gab, but here she is at a loss. There has to be something. "You know, you never told me why got into a fight with your best friend." As soon as the words leave her mouth, Mercedes knows this can lead nowhere good.

Puck's confusion increases ten-fold. Surely she doesn't want to talk about Finn. "He's not my friend, never was."

She opens her mouth to refute his claim, force of habit obviously, but she's stopped by the first word that comes from his mouth.

"Finn," Mercedes flinches, "is not my friend. Honestly, he never was. I just hung around him because we play football together." He pauses for a moment giving her the opportunity to speak feeling like a giant douche for mentioning Finn's name, but she doesn't say anything. Feeling like and even bigger douche, Puck decides to just answer her question. "I read your letter-"

This time she cuts him off with her soft voice. "I know."

"I'm sorry- wait you knew?"

"You had it for nearly two days. No one has enough control not to read something…like that."

"I'm…I'm sorry. I know that was meant-"

"It's okay." She doesn't want to hear the end of that statement.

"I shouldn't have read it."

"But you did. Really it's okay." Inwardly, she detects the embers of anger trying to ignite, but she snuffs them out. She has a right to be angry, but there is no point to be so.

Puck swallows figuring he won't continue to push the issue. If she's okay with his intrusion then so be it. "Yeah…and it made me mad…what I read. So, I beat him up. He deserved it."

Mercedes startles but tamps down anything that doesn't resemble confusion, of which she has plenty. "So you did it for me?"

Puck stalls for a second before answering. What he's about to say could break into this concrete exterior English Girl has erected. It could just as easily fortify that very wall locking him out indefinitely.

"Yeah, but what exactly did he do to you because you don't really say in the letter."

Mercedes unconsciously leans away from the inquisitor. "You didn't have to do that for me." It's too soon. Mercedes can't even face that reality herself let alone relive it for someone else.

He's done it. Puck knew questioning her about Finn was in the no fly zone, but the pig-headed oaf had to try. She was practically asking for it with the direction she forced the conversation to take. However, he did not expect the effects of her distancing herself from him to take his breath. He hadn't realized how acclimated to the warmth that accompanied her presence until he no longer felt it. He did not like the cool breeze taking her place. This sucks royally, and it's already been established that he's not the best to break uneasy tension.

Mercedes eyes Puck open his mouth only for it to close without a word escaping. She feels sorry for him; however, she can't give him what he wants.

Technically he's done nothing wrong and doesn't deserve to feel as if he has. Unfortunately, she's not the best person to lift anyone's mood, but she can try to alleviate some of the tension surrounding them. "You never told me how your mom reacted to the fight and you getting suspended."

Puck's eyes brighten, and he smiles. "She flipped. More disappointed than angry. I've been getting better for her, you know, trying not to get into trouble and stuff then I go and get kicked out of school; so, she wanted to lock me down for forever, take my keys and everything. But after a little explaining and telling her I couldn't abandon you at the hospital, she eased up on me a bit and let me visit you, which was all I cared about anyway."

Allowing a self-deprecating smile onto her face, Mercedes turns to him fully. "I bet your mom probably hates that her son is friends with a crazy, messed up girl like me."

"What?" he scrunches his face, "No, she doesn't hate you. At first she thought you might be a bad influence on me-as if that was even possible-but I made sure she understood how wrong she was. She doesn't have a problem with me being _friends_ with you. I think she prefers it. I'm a lot nicer."

"And more chatty."

She's leaning into him, a sign that things are looking up. He doesn't think she has any knowledge of her new positioning, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't notice the moment he felt her warm body rest against his. Her little attempt at a jibe doesn't go over his head either. Looking at English Girl, he couldn't be more happy that she's relaxing and becoming comfortable around him again. He doesn't want to disrupt this progress though; so, he doesn't make mention or draw attention. "That too apparently. But friend, huh?"

"What?" she says raising her left brow.

"You said we were friends." Puck turns his head to glance at Mercedes Jones, the girl he's missed this past week; he couldn't suppress the mile wide grin adorning his youthful face if he wanted to. He knows she's joking with him and at this point it's more than he could have asked for.

"I did?" It feels good to be anything but awkward with her new friend. And the smirk forcing its way across her lips is proof of that.

Puck leans toward her. They've been touching for a while now, but he's getting closer and she can feel her cheeks heating. His face is less two inches away from hers and the mirth glowing in his eyes warms her heart.

"Yeah, you did." He says teasingly, a note above a whisper.

The two are close enough for her to feel his breath on her face and surprisingly it smells of chocolate. For a moment she stops breathing. When her lungs can't take it anymore she releases the wind she's been holding letting her words ride the current. "It's true."

The words ghost across his lips. Puck's eyes train on hers. The smile he's wearing slips away. All sound ceases. Everything outside their bubble nonexistent. Only the two of them. Their proximity. The brown of her irises and the green of his. The palpable tension threatens to overtake them both.

She pulls back looking away bursting the bubble he could have lived a lifetime in.

Many minutes go by stirring worry in Puck's stomach, but he refuses to revert to what they were when he first arrived. "Hey, Mercedes." Relief flushes through him when she answers him with her gaze. "After…when you go home, you have to come over for dinner to meet my mom."

"Yeah?" Her eyes twist in question.

"Yeah. You'll like her, and I know she'll love you."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're smart, nice, and pret – why wouldn't she? She will. You'll come, right?"

A smile. A genuine smile that reaches her eyes. "I'd love to," she says softly scooting closer to Puck and laying her head on his shoulder. She knew it would happen. Or rather she hoped. Hoped that he could take her away from the misery coating her days and seizing her nights. From the instant he opened his mouth, though unsure, she began to feel life seeping into her bones. She was wrong. He hadn't changed his mind, nor would he ever. He hasn't told her this, but she believes it in her heart. She would always be able to rely on him.

It doesn't take long before he hears soft snores in his ear. Puck didn't expect them to be in this most familiar position. Her head on his shoulder, her warm vanilla infused magnolia scent that's all her own wafting into his nose with the breeze. He certainly thought it would take him more than a couple of hours. Yet, here they are. This, however, doesn't quell his concern. Just because she's willing to let him be there for her doesn't mean he can ignore how guarded she's become. Even with him. He doesn't let that wash out the happiness churning inside of him. He's not going anywhere and he doesn't have to. English Girl wants him here, and this is where he intends to be.

**Okay, first things first, if the first part of the chapter seemed awkward it was supposed to. I wanted to show how things had changed between them. So this update was kind of quick I just wanted to get something out because A&P is no joke and medical terminology is going to be a butt load of work. So I don't know when the next update will be except that it will be after I finish writing chapter 20. Yep I'm that far ahead. Hope you liked. If not let me know. If so I really want to know that too. **

**Until next time…**

**nakala**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

She awakes with a renewed sense of self. She knows where she is going, and if the journey is more arduous than sugar coated then she is fine with that because she has her rock. The night following Puck's visit wasn't as restless as those prior. Though she got little sleep, the little she did get was sound and that's all she can do for now.

Her morning flies by without incidence, no one bothers to push her and she doesn't offer to open up. Mercedes doesn't understand how they expect her to spill her guts to strangers when she couldn't even talk to her one decent parent about what had been going on with her before she decided she wanted to end her life. There are still a lot of things she hasn't told the one person she confides in.

When Mercedes walks into the lobby, she sees him sitting in one of the chairs with his back facing her. Even just the sight of him warms the chills this lame excuse for a mental institution gives her. Making her way behind him she notices the white cord budding from his ears. Not at all remembering her hesitance from the previous day, she pulls the earplug out. She doesn't register that he doesn't flinch at her intrusion.

"Hey, Noah."

Puck spins to look up at the girl whose vanilla scent greeted him before he felt the cool touch of her fingers brush over his ear. Grasping his ear piece from her hand, the young man stands up to face her. "English Girl, how you doing?" before the sting of his misstep settles in, "you look better. Did you get some sleep?"

She walks around the chairs that separate herself from Puck; as she does, his body automatically twists toward hers as naturally as a compass points north.

"Yeah, a little," she says quirking her lips to resemble a smile. As long as she knows he will be a part of her days she can endure the nights.

Staring at each other, they stand completely immersed in contemplation. Today doesn't feel like yesterday, and they can tell. Though they've done nothing drastically different, the unmistakable connection that seemed to be teetering on the verge of extinction has fortified. They will forever be tethered.

Snapping from his thoughts, Puck addresses Mercedes. "You want to get out of here? Go to that spot outside under the tree."

"Yeah, sure."

The teenagers amble through the garden lazily. This time, despite their leisurely pace, they forego the tour for a straight line to their sitting spot from yesterday. Once there, they settle underneath absentmindedly leaning into each other.

Mercedes closes her eyes taking a deep breath of the flower scented air. If she could spend the rest of her days like this, she would be a happy girl. I can't help the grin that sneaks its way onto my face. Being outside next to Noah without a care in the world is the closest I've been to happy in years. I know that my troubles outnumber the stars right now, but for now, this very moment I don't allow them to overwhelm me. I don't allow them residence in my mind. All I know, for now, is the flowers are beautiful and Noah is more comfortable than the tree.

There is a smile on her face as he steals glances of her. Puck is thoroughly amazed at the difference a day made. It was just yesterday that they'd virtually bumbled and fumbled around each other like two strangers stuck in an elevator. Yet, here they are sitting contently silent. His eyes are about to drift closed when he feels Mercedes shift away from him. However, before Puck can get used to the distance, she takes his hand, lifts his arm over her head, slides into his side laying her head on his chest with her face to the sky, then drops his arm over her shoulder.

With her this close, I feel a familiar jolt that runs through me whenever she's near. I've long abandoned the need to figure it out. It doesn't matter, and when the time comes that it does, I'll be more than happy to do so.

I notice that this time our proximity feels a little different. In the past, she just needed me for support, but now she seems to want my support. I guess her reasoning could be that she doesn't want to lean her back onto this rough tree that is kind of digging into my back. Which is totally possible, but either way having her close like this feels so good; so, I'll take it.

After a minute or so, Puck lowers his chin onto the top of Mercedes' head. Half an hour passes before either of them speaks.

It is Puck who opens his mouth first. "You seem to really like it out here."

There isn't a hint of a question in his voice, only an observation, but English Girl answers him anyway. "I do. I wish I'd come out here sooner."

"Were-are you, like, an outdoor person or something?"

"No. Not even close," she says chuckling to herself.

"Then why do you like it out here so much, most girls I know hate being outside."

Mercedes shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not _most girls_, but I don't really like the outdoors either. I just like it here."

"Why?"

"The flowers, I guess…" Grappling with how much she is willing to divulge Mercedes sits in consideration a while before finishing her statement. "I guess it's the flowers. They remind me of a time before…before everything went to hell-I don't know."

Puck doesn't stop her or interject like he wants to; instead, he just listens as she continues.

"My mom used to have a garden in the back yard. When I was little - like six - I used to play in that garden all the time. I remember it smelling so good, like happy. The older I got the less I went outside, but that didn't stop me from sitting out there every once in a while. Mom used to bring fresh flowers in and put them in vases all over the house, even in my bedroom, so that we had that atmosphere around us all the time. This feeling of happiness that the flowers brought us. When the drinking started and Dad stopped loving us, she let the garden wither, and all the flowers and everything that came along with them went away. This place reminds me of that garden, of happier times."

Oh. I don't know how to follow English Girl's honesty. I half expected her to just give me some story about loving flowers or something. But not this. So I don't say anything. Puck doesn't know what to say. He hadn't expected her to speak so candidly. However, his shock over her confession of sorts does not make him feel at all uncomfortable.

Relaxing more than a bit, he buries his nose into vanilla scented hair looking out across the garden as they settle into silence. The most easy silence they have experienced since they met. Taking a deep breath Puck inhales the magnolia laced vanilla aroma that is Mercedes. He would be lying if he said he didn't like how close they are again. It seems the nature of their relationship. If they weren't physically connected in some way, that would be a dead giveaway that something was wrong.

Mindless of her actions, Mercedes grabs the hand hanging over her shoulder and begins fiddling with it. Examining the hand of this stranger become friend, she realizes there is so much she doesn't know about him. So much she thought she knew but was completely inaccurate in her assumptions. Just the feel of his uncallused, very clean hand is proof of that. The palm of his hand is soft, not dry, or rough as she suspected. In her mind, the rough around the edges boy had to have hands to match. He doesn't. They're soft and warm. She taps the tips of his fingers with hers, sizes his hand against hers. His is much larger. Briefly, she wonders why he hasn't said anything, but ignores the question in her mind deciding she doesn't need to know. He hasn't stopped her from continuing something so weird and out of the ordinary so it doesn't matter.

Should I want to hold the hand of the girl who is caressing my fingers in what can be misconstrued as insanely intimate? Probably not. I want to jerk my hand away from her. I need to separate myself from her entirely. I've never felt like this before. I shouldn't feel like this about a girl recovering in a hospital. Crazy house? But I can't. I can't let her know how uncomfortable she's making me with her touching. I can't risk hurting her because English Girl wouldn't understand. She'd probably think I was rejecting her, which would not be the case.

Silencing his thoughts, Puck suffers his friend to ghost her index finger gently across the lines of his palm. Each feathery stroke trigging an electrical current that flows through his nervous system aimed straight for his heart. No one has ever taken such interest or care with him before. The way her fingers roam nimbly over his, no girl has ever touched him as if they wanted to remember every detail about any part of his body before. I like it, but I shouldn't.

Maybe his mom is right. Maybe English Girl is influencing him because he's never cared before about how what he does affects anyone. Now, he's keeping himself from squirming, just so he doesn't hurt Mercedes, and maybe because he doesn't want her to stop…just a little bit. That doesn't mean he won't be glad when she finally does stop. Unfortunately, or not, she doesn't seem inclined to cease from fondling his hand.

From his palm to the surface of his hand, she travels. He gets lost in the feel of her smooth skin on his, and the sweet smell of her hair. He could be this way with her forever.

"What happened here? Your knuckles…" Her velvet voice reels Puck from his distant musings.

All the while he speaks, Mercedes continues with his hand.

"I punched a brick wall." He states succinctly, explanation lost to the fingers trailing over his scarred knuckles.

"For fun or…"

Puck chuckles into her hair. She has a way with words; he thoroughly enjoys her snark. Lifting his nose from her hair he places his chin in the same spot so he can answer her. "No, I don't like to bust up my hand for fun. I was just…" Yeah he wants English Girl to open up to him, but does that mean he needs to do the same. He'd abused himself out of anger at himself and everyone else that had a part in her practical demise. But could he really be there for her without _being_ there with her and he very well couldn't be any help to her while being a hypocrite. With a labored inhale he continues. "I had just read your, you know, and I was mad at myself-everybody. When I'm mad I tend to hit, well, mostly people, but a brick wall happened to be the closest thing. I didn't realize I had done it 'til I felt pain shoot up my arm." The words fly from his mouth riding along a single breath.

Mercedes feels his discomfort, how could she not with their proximity. If she was very still, she could feel his heart thrumming murderously against his ribcage. And even if she couldn't, she's known this guy for less than 2 weeks and already knows his tell. Puck's anxiety expresses itself in quickly rambled monologues. She thinks it is very cute and terribly endearing. Before the thought lodges into her brain, she flicks it away. Instead, she returns her focus to the scabs that appear too new for the time frame he gave her. "So that must have been the first time because these look not so old…almost kind of new." Her fingers run over the rough patches of skin.

"Yeah, I kind of kept hitting people and things some more after that." He doesn't say his name this time, but Mercedes isn't a stupid girl. She knows he's implicating Finn and whatever inanimate object, which she can only assume was on her behalf fueled by his misplaced guilt.

"You shouldn't hit _things_. You have great hands. My dad has great hands," she says as an afterthought, "especially on my account. Or _anything_ you may be feeling because you shouldn't. You know?" Noah doesn't say anything in response to my question. Perhaps, he's thinking of one or he doesn't know I've posed one. A simple okay is all that's needed. I presume he doesn't truly understand what I'm trying to tell him. Although I forced him to feel the guilt the moment my eyes met his in the hospital, honestly, I knew he didn't deserve the guilt trip I placed on him. He didn't…he didn't deserve it.

Because changing positions to look into his eyes would require that she would no longer be touching Puck, Mercedes decides to twist around in his arms so that she is still tucked into his side, but can still see his eyes. This movement causes the arm that is on her shoulder to fall to her hips, where he leaves it. When she finds his eyes searching for hers, the confusion present confirms her speculation.

Eyes fixed on his, the young woman does what she figures she should have the moment she realized she wanted him around more than her own mother. "Noah, you…don't have to be mad at yourself. Not for anything involving me. I know I made you feel like…I made you feel like me being in the hospital was your fault…it wasn't. You don't have to feel guil-"

"Mercedes, you didn't make me feel anything." She raises a challenging brow. "That first day, a little, but it doesn't have everything to do with you. Okay? My guilt is mine. You didn't put it on me. You get that?"

She looks away. "Yeah, I guess. I just-" She turns back to peer into his eyes.

"Mine. Not because of you. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. You shouldn't be worrying about me anyway. Just worry about you. About getting out of this place."

Mercedes assents. "But you really should stop hitting things."

"What about people?"

"Considering how nice you've become, I'll make some concessions. Some people deserve a good beat down every now and then." They both chuckle at the reference.

Although Mercedes may not be able to talk about Finn openly, at least she can joke about him.

"Okay, so the occasional can opener can be taken out." He nods his head smiling at her. "I can handle that. What I can't handle is this nickname your dad gave you. Bambi?"

"As if English Girl is any better."

"I like it, and so do you. But really, where'd he get that. Is it your obsession with flowers or please don't tell me deer?"

"No stupid. It's my eyes."

"Your eyes?"

Mercedes rolls her eyes trying to cover her embarrassment. "Yeah, he says the moment I opened my eyes after being born he thought they were the biggest, most beautiful brown doe eyes he'd ever seen - his words not mine - therefore, Bambi." She shrugs her shoulders. That's what her father told her when she was a little girl. It was his special name for her. She can't argue with his logic.

"He does know Bambi is a dude, right?"

"Shut up, Noah. Yes, he knows. It's just a really feminine name and the only deer he knows with a name. Doe just doesn't have the same ring to it." She insists nudging him with her shoulder.

"No it does not. I guess you have a point."

"I know I do."

He can hear the broad smile in her voice. Puck lets her have the last say. English Girl seems to enjoy the victory so much. For a minute he just looks at her face, namely the eyes that earned her a nickname from her father. A father he can't imagine ever caring for anybody. But maybe he was wrong. He definitely believes his dad loves him even if it isn't enough. The man wouldn't have tried to make the last time he saw him the best time if he didn't. In my dad's ignorant way he was trying to soften the blow. So, Mr. Jones could love his daughter despite what Mercedes and I both think. And if she can believe in that, maybe it would help in some way because Puck knows she does care about her father and whether or not he cares for her.

He pokes Mercedes in the side to get her attention. "Hey, you awake." The last time they sat quietly for as long, she'd drifted off, and though he hasn't heard her soft snores, he isn't sure she hasn't fallen asleep. She is impossibly still.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She grumbles without moving an inch.

"You haven't moved; so, I just-you went to sleep yesterday."

"Oh, I kind of did, huh?"

"Yeah, but that's not why I was asking. I just wanted to say…and I know I may be overstepping some invisible line, but I just wanted to say that…your dad loves you." His final words rush out of his mouth guided by his fear of the repercussions they might incur.

This time, for the first time since they sat under the big oak tree, Mercedes separates herself from Puck. She slides from his side and back into the tree pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them.

"Don't talk about things you know nothing about."

He hasn't known this girl very long, but he has known her long enough to know when there is hidden meaning in her words. He didn't think it was possible, not yesterday anyway, but he can feel the inception of anger blooming inside him towards Mercedes.

I'm sure I told her about my dad and his disappearing act. She doesn't need to know the full story to know that I know a little bit about crappy dads. I get that she's in a bad place right now, literally and figuratively, but she's better than this. She's better than this self-centered bull she's shoveling. "Know nothing about? My dad abandoned me when I was 10. So don't – I know what I'm talking about." Puck gulps a few shaky breaths of air trying to calm down.

"Exactly. My dad _used _to love me." She doesn't say it directly, but the implication is all too clear. Mercedes isn't a cruel person. She's never been the kind of person to hurt anyone without just cause, mostly that was her plight. And even now, she's not doing it intentionally. Yet, she couldn't stop the words from slipping from her mouth. Glancing into Noah eyes, her heart sinks and crumbles. She has really messed up and deserves the ache thrumming in her heart for being the inflictor of the pain flashing in Puck's eyes.

He can't look at her. He doesn't want to be near her. Can't be near her. He needs to punch something, and she isn't an option. He doesn't hit girls; plus, it isn't her fault that his default emotion is anger. It overrides any form of hurt that he feels.

Rising from the ground, Puck walks around the tree to the other side. His throat burns and so does his eyes. The already battered hand itches to pound the tree, but he can't do that. Not outside a mental institution. Not in front of Mercedes. So, he settles on pacing.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Until the tightening in his chest subsides and the blasted blurriness in his eyes dries, he can't stop. If he stops, he'll yell, and Puck doesn't want to yell at English Girl. He knows she didn't mean to say what she said, but that hasn't _really_ sunk in. When it does, he'll talk to her, not yell at her.

Mercedes' face is buried in her knees her arms shielding her from the world. The crunching of his feet along the acorns buried in the grass speaks to her of his anger. And it's all her fault. Her body doesn't betray the silent sobs bursting from her. Her friend, Noah, is probably going to leave her now, and there's no one to blame but herself. She doesn't look up when she feels the air shift beside her. But that's all she feels. The heat that usually accompanies is absent. Puck is sitting near her, not beside her. Mercedes has to catch her breath, hyperventilation threatening to blacken her vision. A few deep intakes of air to calm her frayed nerves keep the darkness at bay.

When she doesn't budge, Puck realizes that though his anger has simmered the embers are still smoldering. And God help him, he's about to express this annoyance when she looks up and their eyes meet. His words get caught in his throat. Puck just wants to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything is okay. There is also no chance that he's going to let that happen.

"Just because my dad left me doesn't mean he didn't love me. Maybe not as much as your dad, but he did. And who's to say, maybe he did love me enough not to ruin my life by sticking around and being a crappy dad or screwing my mom over.

All that matters is that he loves me and I know it. He made sure I knew that the last time I saw him. He may have piled a lifetime worth of parenting into one day and left me, but it was the best day of my life. So don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. Because I do. It may have taken me a long time to figure it out, but I did.

Your dad loves you a whole lot more than mine ever loved me, Mercedes, even if he is being a butthole right now."

Mercedes' lips open, but Puck cuts her off knowing she is going to refute him. "He does love you. I know you don't want to hear that right now, but you need to."

Mercedes snatches her eyes away from his as the tears flow unencumbered.

"Come on, Mercedes, it's getting late. I should be going."

She stands up to face Puck, but she can't bring herself to lift her head to meet his eyes. "I–I'm sorry."

Puck walks over to her, puts his hands on her shoulders. "I know. Now, stop crying, okay. Can't have these people thinking I've been out here beating up on you."

Mercedes nods her head wiping her tears from her eyes.

When they finally stop falling, Puck escorts her back to the building. Stopping a few feet from the door he turns to look at her. "Um, I'll see you later."

Mercedes doesn't look at him, but turns away from him to enter the building when she answers. "Okay, I guess." Then she hurries down the hall to her room.

Puck stands stunned. "Wait what?"

**Don't be mad at me this kind of had to happen to get them both back on track and for them to learn more about each other. **

**There's more to come, but not until I finish the chapter I am working on. **

**Thanks for reading and please don't forget to review. **

**nakala**


	19. Chapter 19

**Sorry for the late update. In between other stories I'm writing or reading, and books I'm reading, and school and writer's block for chapter 21, I have left this story on the back burner. Also, this story is kind of sad so I have to get into the right mood to write this. **

**Anyway, sorry for the late update to all of you who are still reading my story. **

**Song which does not belong to me is: Foster the People "Waste" I suggest you check it out while you read this or just check it out it's an awesome song. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story that comes from my head; the rest and the song belong to their respective owners. **

**Chapter 19**

Rainfall pelts the mental facility casting a grey hue throughout the building. The lonely teenager sits with her knees to her chest in one of the many love seats in the visitor's lounge, misty eyes staring blankly at the torrential downpour. She's going to be stuck inside along with all the other crazies.

Thunder booms overhead followed shortly by a flash of lightening that manages to break past the blanket of heavy, ashen clouds. Mercedes glances around the room checking to see if anyone noticed her jump. Thunderstorms have never been her forte. They remind her of fighting. Her mother once told her it was God bowling in heaven, but that did nothing to ease her dread when she heard the crashing thunder and crackling lightening in action. To her, it's as if the elements are going to war. Much like her parents had before her dad finally gave up and all but abandoned them.

Unshed tears mist her sad brown eyes. She can't let the staff witness her crying. It would only send flares into the sky and alarms blaring. The suicidal resident bellyaching, they would order her more sessions of which she already has more than her fill.

A chill runs down her spine causing a shiver to overtake her body. This has to be the worst day. There's a coolness floating in the air, more so than usual, and icing the stormy, rain, ridden evening is her belief that she won't be seeing Noah. Not today or any other day, after the colossal, butt move she made yesterday. Why did she have to open her big, fat mouth? Noah had been her friend when she had no other, and she had to go and ruin the only good thing in her pitiful life.

Lonely.

She is once again back to being lonely, and she has no one to blame but herself.

I screwed up big time. The one person I knew I could rely on and I poo over all he's done for me with a thoughtless comment.

Mercedes sniffles trying to shove the lump forming in her throat down and keep the tears from toppling from her eyes. She wants to take refuge in her room, never leave it until everything just fades away and she is all better and all her troubles dissolved. But she can't do that here. They watch her. They are all being watched, all the time – mentally unstable losers that may just race off the deep end gleefully. No, she has to suffer on the inside until night when it is only her, her room, and her tears.

Burying her head in her knees, she sighs freeing her mind.

Thinking leads to hurting, which leads to crying, which leads to despair. Woebegone, Mercedes surrenders to the sounds echoing in the room; grants them authority to wash her mind clean of all the clutter fueling her festering depression. For the first time in years, she pushes out all the thoughts buzzing around in her head like a swarm of hornets. She pushes away the pain following her daily and the present regret constantly prodding her. Behind her the banging and sliding of the Foosball table distracts her from the fear that tries to worm its way back into her thoughts, but the quiet roar of voices laughing and talking surrounds her helping force the dark thoughts away.

Mercedes drags in a deep breath and all the sounds fade except the hard thud of the rain outside. She revels in the sound which placates yet caters to her self-deprecation. As long as her lungs allow, she holds the cool air; however, shortly the urge to release becomes too strong and with the expelled breath comes the assault of the noise of the room bearing down on her. It doesn't upset her because it is the only reprieve she'll have from now on.

Alone.

The time she's been huddled with her feet on the couch, knees supporting her arms and hiding her face can't be measured. Quite some time has passed, she surmises, because the rain once a heavy downpour has now dissipated to a heavy drizzle. Acclimated to the hushed noise of her environment, Mercedes picks out the rather obnoxious sloshing of a person nearing her. A dip in the couch follows the loud shuffle. Someone has decided to sit beside her.

I could so do without the company. I don't look up. What for? It's probably some deranged crazy like me. I don't want to talk to them so I try my best not to let them know that I know they're even there. I can hardly tolerate myself let alone another person just like me.

She doesn't budge, so he moves closer. Not touching but close enough for her to notice him. He gets what he wants; however, the surprised expression on her face throws him. English Girl has to know by now that she can expect to see him as long as she is stuck in the institution. His eyebrows crinkle, and he opens his mouth to ask her why she looks so stunned to see him when her face smoothes into a blank stare that she averts from the body sitting beside her. That's odd. He can't help but think something has happened to cause her to react to him this way.

My gaze trails hers to peer out at the falling rain. She doesn't say a word, but her very stiff almost worried body speaks volumes to me. I had thought something was off when I left yesterday after she apologized, but only now can I see that I was right. No matter what I told myself about Mercedes being okay. She's not. She's still upset, probably at herself, thinking that I was still mad at her and I wasn't coming back. I shake my head, but I don't say a word. Apparently, she doesn't hold much stock in what I say or do; so, maybe she'll understand better if I told her another way.

Pulling out his music player, Puck finds the song he's looking for and hands Mercedes the left ear bud while he places the right ear bud in his ear.

Mercedes looks at him, one eyebrow lifted, askant.

"Just put it in and listen, okay?" He says softly.

Grudgingly she obliges, and he starts the song.

_I'll hold your hand when you are feelin' mad at me  
When the monsters they won't go  
And your windows won't close  
I'll pretend to see what you see_

I face her as the words play into her ears. I can't tell if she understands what I'm trying to say, but I don't take my eyes off of her. I'm not giving up on her.

_How long I say how long  
Will you relive the things that are gone  
Oh yeah the devil's on your back  
But I know you can shake him off_

My eyes flick to Noah's face to find his hazel eyes resting softly on mine.

_And every day that you want to waste  
That you want to waste  
You can  
And every day that you want to wake up  
And you want to wake  
You can  
And every day that you want to change  
That you want to change  
Yeah  
I'll help you see it through  
'Cause I just really wanna be with you_

Tears cloud her vision as she internalizes the words that are flowing into her mind. One topples down her cheek alarming the teenager sitting beside her. I didn't mean to make her cry. I hate when girls cry. At least she's finally getting it. Without averting my gaze, I grab her hand lacing our fingers. More tears fall.

_You know it's funny how freedom  
Can make us feel contained  
When the muscles in our legs aren't used to all the walkin'  
I know if you could snap both your fingers  
Then you'd escape with me  
But in the meantime I'll just wait here and listen to you when you speak  
Or scream_

Understanding settles in her eyes. She gets it. English Girl _finally _gets it. I'm not going anywhere. She doesn't say anything as she raises her eyebrows, and I know she needs reassurance. Dumb girl. I nod my head and lip yes for her benefit. Certainty replaces the slight worry in her tear filled eyes and she lays her head on my shoulder with her hand still in mine.

_And every day that you want to waste  
That you want to waste  
You can  
And every day that you want to wake up  
And you want to wake  
You can  
And every day that you want to change  
That you want to change  
Yeah  
I'll help you see it through  
'Cause I just really wanna be with you_

When the song ends, Mercedes gives Puck's hand a firm squeeze, but neither teenager speaks. They don't need to; Puck said everything he needed to without opening his mouth, which he thanks heaven for because he obviously hasn't been doing an adequate job of making sure Mercedes knew exactly where he stood where she was concerned. Especially if she thought he would bolt after one minor argument. He's never been fickle and he's not going to start now.

They sit in silence listening to music and watching the rain pick up and let off in cycles.

More than a few songs have passed between them when Mercedes is ready to talk. She removes the ear bud handing it back to Puck. She separates herself from him lowering her legs from the couch. Facing him head on, she speaks in the most timorous voice. "I didn't think you were coming back."

Puck shakes his head smiling, "You can't get rid of me that easily."

"I didn't know that," a sad smile bends her lips, "I thought you were mad at me," Mercedes whispers biting her bottom lip.

"I was."

"I'm really sorry for what-"

"Mercedes, just because you said something that made me mad doesn't mean I'm just going to ditch you. I said I would be here every day, and I meant it. I ain't going nowhere. Promise. Even if _you_ get mad at me." Puck flicks Mercedes' chin. "Now, do you believe me?"

Mercedes swipes at the tears falling from her eyes. "I do, yes, and for real, Noah, I'm sorry-"

"Ahh," Puck yells, "English Girl stop apologizing. You did that yesterday, and I accepted. You're going through a lot, and I was pushing you and you just pushed back. It's forgotten. So can you get over it? I'm not mad."

"Yeah, but you have to let me apologize. First, sure, I kind of apologized yesterday, a weak imitation of an apology by my standards. Not at all what you deserved."

"If I let you, will you let it go?"

"I just said I would."

"Then shoot."

"Okay…um…I shouldn't have insinuated – no – said that your dad doesn't love you. I know nothing about your relationship with your father. It was mean and so out of character. I knew – once I said it – I knew it was hurtful and cruel. It was wrong of me. I am terribly sorry for saying it."

"You happy now?"

"I do feel better about the situation, yeah."

"Good for you, but I was so expecting something a little more poetic or something."

Her head cocks to the side in sudden realization. "Me too." She looks him in the eyes and they both know what each one is thinking. The letter. But she can't help from laughing a little. She had imagined this grand apology with all these meaningful words, but it was nothing like she'd thought up in her mind. What came from her mouth sounded more like something the guy sitting beside her would say. The thought of that makes her laugh harder.

Puck takes pleasure in the mirth Mercedes is allowing herself to feel. For the past two days he hasn't seen this side of her. He'd only captured a glimpse of a less weighted Mercedes, but listening to her laugh now he wishes she could be this way all the time. Eventually, he joins with a chuckle of his own.

When her laughter subsides, she tosses a crooked smirk at Puck then turns to look out the window. He continues staring at the girl who has invaded his life completely taking precedent. Contrary to their earlier encounter, she has a serenity about her, an openness she was suppressing when he'd sat with her when he first arrived. Mercedes is relaxed and for the time being unburdened, her body loose and free of any tension.

I watch her like this for a while, not Mercedes the girl in the nut house but Mercedes, English Girl, the high school student I've always watched. With her long thick lashes, and smooth, hot chocolate-like skin and those eyes. Eyes that can freeze you or melt you with just once glance. The eyes her father has forgotten, but I never will. Lost in the view of his friend, Puck's mind wonders to before the first visit and his apprehension with coming to visit her. He's so glad he's not like some weak losers, if he was he wouldn't be sitting with Mercedes getting to know her in a way no one else will.

Mercedes feels his eyes on her, but ignores the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Glancing in his direction, she welcomes the shy smile that forms on her lips then resumes looking at the rain. After a few beats of time, she notices his penetrating gaze leave her to take in the view.

"Before I came the first day, I…I thought maybe you wouldn't…you wouldn't want me around." Her head whips around examining his profile as he continues. "That maybe you'd came to your senses and realized," Puck huffs, "that I didn't deserve-"

Mercedes narrows her eyes at him scowling in offense as she cuts him short. "I wouldn't – never." She says softly. Turning away facing front, she smiles. "I didn't sleep that night before. I had to keep telling myself you would show."

Everything makes so much more sense to the both of them. The hesitance and unease that the two fumbled around seems so foolish now. They were in this together. As much as she needs him to make it through this time in her life, he needs her to get through it. They're connected. Serendipity, fate, destiny, chance, it doesn't really matter and had they been bold enough to lay it all bare the moment they saw each other they'd have saved themselves some grief.

It doesn't shock him; her revelation; however, he is caught off guard by her candid confession. Maybe they're turning a corner. He does hate that she sacrificed sleep hoping for something that was inevitable. She wouldn't be tempted to do that another night after today. Although he's said it more times than he thought he would need to, he doesn't have any qualms reiterating for English Girl. "Mercedes, I'll always be here for as long as you need me, and even when you don't want me."

The tears fill her eyes the moment his words touch her heart. There's no way she thought she'd be in this crap hole inching her way farther from death, but she is and it's all because of a guy who she'd wondered about and judged for most of her high school life. Refusing to cry again, Mercedes responds by snuggling into his side.

The second she touches his side, his arm automatically wraps around her tightly. They're connected. Security. Strength. Acceptance. He's her anchor. He's holding her to the land of the living. She's his humanity. She's his absolution.

For the time being Mercedes surrenders to his power. She's willing to let him hold her together until she's mended because she knows he'll be there even when she no longer _needs_ him and especially when she _wants_ him. He'll be there.

Every day without fail he visits her never breaking his promise.

**Not the end just sounded endish. There's more to come. **

**Super sappy chapter I know, but this is where the story led me. I hope you liked it. **

**Next chapter will be up when I have the time. **

**Thanks for reading and don't forget to review. **

**nakala**


	20. Chapter 20

**Do not own Dante's Inferno. **

It's been over three weeks since English Girl could have visitors, and I haven't missed a day. Not that I've had any intention of missing any. Mercedes needs me. I've never really been needed before, well, not like this. I mean, I've been _needed_ before, what girl hasn't _wanted_ me, _needed_ me, but not like this.

However, he's never been needed like Mercedes needs him. For her, he's a shoulder not just a warm body. The way that she needs him makes him want to be more than his body, something he's never cared about. Yeah, she's rubbing off on him. He didn't really think so before, but now…she makes him want to be better. To be someone worth her time. Mercedes makes him want to be reliable, and for the life of him, she makes him want to be somebody. Not just the dude in the background following some major douche like Finn. For once in Puck's young life, he wants to be his own person, stand alone, make his own choices, choose his own friends. Though, Mercedes is really all the friend he needs. Unfortunately, he can't say the same for English Girl.

I get that she doesn't want to talk to the shrinks or in front of the people during group, but she should talk to the lady shrink she told me about. The one person she said she can trust, and who she respects. Because she's definitely not talking to me.

Yeah, she's talking to me. We talk. It's just that most days it's a bunch of nothing. She's not ready to lay it all out there for me; she's afraid to trust me with anything more than what she's already given me. I give her credit. English Girl is trying to overcome this big hurdle with all these strangers around, and I'm barely out the stranger zone myself. So, I give her what she needs. Silent comfort. Mercedes will come around when she's good and ready.

Puck checks in with the front desk and waits for them to let her know that she has a visitor. It doesn't take long before he sees her saunter towards him. She looks lighter. There's a smile brightening her face, and Puck's heart stutters, his eyes reflecting the light Mercedes emanates.

When she reaches him, English Girl wraps her arms around his torso embracing him strongly, which he returns in kind. She peers up at him as she pulls away, but Puck keeps his hands on her waist. "Hey." Even if he wasn't staring at her face, he would have heard the smile in her tone.

"Hey." He breathes.

In his eyes is an intensity that strikes Mercedes unnerving her. Hoping to mask her apprehension, she disengages herself from Puck's warmth and walks toward the exit, leaving Puck behind dumbfounded.

He follows unsure of what caused the perplexed look to enter her eyes. I don't catch up with her for a while; I allow her to walk a few paces ahead of me. English Girl may need some time to herself; even though she seems fine, I know better. Something happened back there, and if I smother her, she'll either shut down or come out swinging. After receiving a couple of verbal lashings and missing the sound of her voice over several visits, I've learned to just let her be.

He doesn't interrupt her thoughts as he gains ground reducing the distance between them. Mercedes doesn't take his consideration for granted. There's too much going on in her head for her to deal with his curiosity. I'm grateful Noah doesn't hound me like he used to. Always with the questions. I appreciate his concern entirely, but a girl can become immensely vexed with someone always inquiring if she's okay. Because we both know, I'm not. I'm not home. I'm not talking to my mom. My dad doesn't care if I live or die. I'm not. Also, the references to Finn, and what happened between us, were starting to fray my nerves and crack the plaster holding my walls together.

More than anything he could ever say, the way his eyes pierced mine brought the memory of Finn and me to the forefront in a way that surpassed inexplicable directly to epic gothic novel. Things stirred in her that she'd long abandoned. Hopes that had been dashed and sent adrift. Things with Puck were drastically contradictory to everything she'd ever experienced with Finn, and she didn't know how to process it all without seeing Finn's face and hearing his uncaring voice.

They stroll along the koi pond in route to their spot, but before they make it even half the way to their tree, Mercedes stops abruptly slumping into he grass on the far end of the pond behind the rose bushes. Puck doesn't sit immediately; he's too worried. English Girl is more distant than usual. Her eyes, though fogged with emotion, bear an emptiness that goes beyond his grasp.

Everything was fine before they greeted each other. Her eyes were sparkling like he'd never seen, and she carried contentment in her smile. Yet, shortly after, something happened, but he doesn't know what. Repressing his thoughts, Puck settles in front of Mercedes deviating from his normal place at her side. Right now, he needs to see her face. He has to try to figure out what's plaguing his friend.

I avoid her faraway gaze for a moment; nothing is more awkward than staring at someone who is ignoring you. When I do lay my eyes on hers, the glaze coating them is unmistakable. I just watch her without speaking for fear of causing her to break into full weep mode or morph her pain into anger and turn on attack mode. A silent tear steals away, but she swipes it away absentmindedly. I haven't see her like this since she was at the hospital. That thought frightens me. My mind roves over the possible cause of her crumbling state. It has to be Finn, but I can't just ask her. Although I have alluded to what may have happened between her and Finn or tried to lead her into telling me, I haven't asked her outright since the first day I visited. Honestly, I have no idea how to do that without tearing apart what we have between us and overstepping a boundary I am well aware of. So, instead of doing exactly what I want to do, I just slide closer to English Girl and grab her hand. The only sign that I receive that she even knows that I'm with her is the way she grips my hand in hers, as if it is the very tether binding her to this life.

The wind blows past the teenagers submerged in their own world. Overhead, the sun rests in the sky pouring out warmth overlooked by the morose young woman who ignores the chirping of birds from behind and her cohort whose hand she's clutching to for her half-life.

Her eyes never leave their illusory focal point as she pours out her heart.

"I didn't know it was a joke."

Puck startles at her meek voice but refrains from making any sudden moves or sounds.

"I should have suspected, I think I did on some level, but someone was finally seeing me – wanted me. There was no way I could turn that away. I didn't have the acumen to do so. I mean, it was Finn. I couldn't reject Finn. I didn't want to." Mercedes sighs as the tears race earnestly from her placid eyes.

"He said that we shouldn't tell anyone about us. I didn't question him. Who was I to question Finn Hudson? It lasted for a month and seventeen days. He never said what it was, but I didn't question him. As long as he was there, I couldn't permit myself to care. He never took me out in public. Not like on a date around people. There was this park – the one on the outskirts of town – close enough, I guess, not to be an inconvenience for him. It's a beautiful place, not beautiful like this place beautiful but beautiful." She drags in a ragged breath and trudges on.

"It's where he took me, first. I call it a date – it was a date to me – but I don't know if I can name it as such without painting a prettier picture of my relationship to Finn than was reality. Conversation was minimal – you know Finn, not the most mentally adept individual – his focus was more on making out with me. I let him kiss me that first day. He was my first kiss." Her voice catches on words that choke her forcing a sob past her lips.

Noah's warm hand on my face pokes a hole in the darkness. I quiet myself. I can finish this. "For weeks, I saw him every other day. Sometimes everyday of the week but never on the weekends. I asked once – the first time I'd ever voiced my opinion or asked for anything – but he said no. He gave no explanation, and I knew better than to demand one. I could lose him.

I didn't ever want to lose him. I didn't want to lose the clandestine glances in the hallway or feather-light touches when he passed me at my locker. I was deluded, too engrossed in my own fantasy to notice things escalating much more rapidly than I was ready for.

The physical part always outweighed any emotional or intimate connection. He ignored my efforts to communicate with him. It happened. There were times – very few – that we talked. Nothing too serious. Times when he held me as I talked. Times when everything felt so real, despite my nagging doubts. Times when I knew my feelings were reciprocated, if only marginally. I wanted to tell my parents about him –wanted him to meet them – but he refused to come over when they were present.

I don't think Finn is a truly evil person. I don't think so; he wasn't mean or aggressive. He didn't force me to do anything. Manipulative. Maybe. He had a way of getting what he wanted. He didn't yell at me or handle me roughly. I think he played to his strengths. He was dealing with a girl who was completely enamored with him. So, he simply asked. And I did everything he requested of me without rebuttal. I love him." Puck's hand loosens its hold on Mercedes', but she refuses to let him go and counters his disunion with a firmer clasp tangling her fingers with his. He doesn't get it; she knows, but he's her strength.

"I thought he loved me." The sad truth expels in a whispered utterance. "He never told me he did. I never asked. I only said it once. It was at the end. It was the first time he was ever mean to me. In fact, it was the first time he'd ever taken anything – everything – from me. It took him a month and seventeen days to reach his goal. I – after…we…made love – he told me it was a dare. The words…my world – he didn't look at me. Not once after. His back faced me as he destroyed me.

I was going to wait. When I was a little girl, my mom taught me about how valuable my _flower_ was. She told me that I should save it for that special someone who loved me as much as I loved him. I made a pact with her. No sex until after marriage. I was valuable and the person who knew that would wait." Mercedes croaks a mirthless chuckle. She wasn't valuable. Her parents don't see her value. He alcoholic mother doesn't even know _her_ own worth.

For the first time since their embrace, Mercedes looks into Puck's eyes. She's on the edge, he can see the clouds forming beneath the surface. A wry smile distorts her delicate features causing Puck to squeeze her hand. He has to reassure her that he is there with her that he's holding on to her and will always be there. The abomination on her face melts into a straight line and she averts her gaze once more. "Everything was a ruse to bed me. If that was what he wanted, he could have just asked. He didn't have to make me fall in love with him. I probably would have obliged just because it was Finn who asked."

She turns to me with tears streaming down her face and the most pitiful look in her eye. My lips part to speak, but whatever it is I think I need to say is halted by a shake of Mercedes' head and the removal of her hand from mine.

"It's true." She sniffles, but doesn't attempt to stop the tears that topple one after the other over her cheeks. It wouldn't erase the humiliation and disgust she feels with herself for falling for Finn's scheme. "It's true, Noah."

I close my eyes to block it out. Block out the sympathy ablaze in Noah's eyes and the shine of the tauntingly bright sun. My breath hitches in quick succession; I feel my lungs constricting. If I don't get this under control, I'm going to pass out and cause a scene, which will lead to more meds. I don't want any more of the blasted things. The antidepressants are already too much.

Puck freezes at the sight of Mercedes…freak out. He doesn't understand how she could go from zero to sixty in less than two seconds. The teenager can't fathom what has her in such hysteria. Thoughts are buzzing and flitting through his mind so hurriedly he feels like _he's _going to hyperventilate. But he can't do that, he needs to find a way to help the girl spazzing out in front of him.

Pulling himself from his stupor, Puck crosses to her side gathering her in his arms. However, he gets no response except continuing this ragged barely breathing thing that has Puck freaked out of his mind. As he focuses, he realizes that she's getting worse; so, he pushes her back away from him. He grabs her shoulders tuning English Girl to face him. Once she's facing him, he places his hands on either side of her face.

Mercedes' eyes are still shut, but I ignore that. Just because she can't see me doesn't mean she can't hear me. I move closer to her face, our noses almost touching. "Mercedes, hey, English Girl, calm down. It's okay. Everything is okay."

Her eyes clench tighter. "You don't get to do that. **YOU** do not get to shut me out," lowering his voice, "open those beautiful brown eyes. Come on, Merce, don't do this." He begs.

His thumbs rub away the tears that stream down her face as she has trouble respirating. "Come on, Mercedes, please just look at me." He can feel himself losing his composure. She has him scared beyond what he thought was possible. He wants her to be okay. He _needs_ her to be okay.

But he gets nothing.

Then, slowly her lids lift revealing bloodshot eyes.

Now to deal with her abbreviated breathing. "You gotta slow your breathing. Can you take a deep breath?" Mercedes shows no signs of affirmation, but Puck can tell she's trying.

It's so hard. Through the haze, I try to follow his direction. Try to even my breathing, but it's not working. I can't catch my breath. It frightens me. My breathing accelerates even more until I feel _his_ breath on my face.

"Breathe."

The smell of warm chocolate floats across my face and I try to inhale deeply. It's not as deep as it should be, but…

"Breathe."

The word washes over me and I bathe myself entirely, dragging in a labored breath longer than the first.

"Breathe."

My unfocused eyes zoom in on his impossibly perfect hazel irises and I take a deeper breath expelling it in tune with his…

"Breathe."

Our breaths mingle when I exhale and I know she's finally catching on. Her mahogany eyes dig into my heart. Into my soul. I deeply inhale the floral scented air around me; peripherally, I notice her chest rise with my intake of air.

"Breathe."

They say in tandem.

Deep breath in and…

"Breathe."

Another deep breath and…

"Breathe."

She can feel her lungs relaxing and the pounding in her chest mellow out. Four more cycles of deep respiration and the teenager's breathing is back to normal.

Out of sync, they feel each other's breath brush over their lips. Staring sharply into one another's eyes, they hardly notice when their staggered breathing becomes one again. Her breathing soothes the hammering in her chest just as everything around them seems to join the calm that fills them.

Mercedes leans toward him, but he does nothing; he can't. Shock and excitement coursing through him keeps him rooted to his spot. He's uncertain about all of this. About being the person English Girl chose to open up to about Finn. Puck knows for sure now that he may kill Finn the next time he sees him. But looking into Mercedes' eyes and feeling her breath caress his lips, that thought is shelved. He can admit that he wants to kiss her. He's wanted to kiss her for a while now, but no time seemed appropriate. Even now seems completely inappropriate. There are too many unanswered questions and this would possibly mean more to the both of them than either of them are ready for, especially him. He doesn't want to be a distraction to English Girl's progress. What if he's no better than Finn? What if her being with him makes her worse?

The pads of his thumbs on her skin lure her into a sense of comfort. Her mind goes blank. His assuring eyes. The relaxing aroma of chocolate. The proximity of his lips to hers. Her heart hastens. As though being pulled by an invisible rope Mercedes' face shifts closer to Puck and her eyes flit to his lips. They linger for a few seconds before her eyes find his lidded hazel eyes. Just as her lips are about to touch his, Puck jerks away from her snatching his hands from her face letting them fall into his lap.

Chills roll over her. She takes a deep breath to suppress the shivers that run through her body from the loss of contact that sears her skin. Tears fill Mercedes' eyes spilling over her cheeks; she flicks them away violently.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," is her forced reply.

Neither knows if he is referring to her breathing, which she's struggling desperately to keep under control, or that he just rejected her. Fresh tears seep into her eyes. The young woman stands to her feet, face unreadable. "It's late. Dinner is soon." She walks past Puck, taking care not to near him as she goes toward the building.

Puck lifts to his feet and follows close behind her, so close his hand brushes her hip as they walk. When they near the door, he reaches around her to open the door, as any gentleman would, but Mercedes steps to the side from the line of the door away from his hovering body.

Distance.

She _needs_ distance.

But he _wants_ to touch her.

A stabilizing hand.

A warm hug.

They shared the most visceral embrace that opened his mind to so much concerning English Girl. And right now, he feels like maybe he's losing it.

It's what they do, the constant contact. A head freeing burdens on a shoulder. An arm offering strength and protection securely around a waist. Brief embraces. It's become so commonplace that Puck instinctively stretches his hand toward hers, but his gut constricts and his jaw clenches painfully when she jerks away from his extended hand. It hurts, more than he can quantify. He deserves that, he supposes, but that doesn't keep him from being supremely perturbed for being hurt. Yeah, he rejected her, but it was the right thing to do. For once, he did the right thing. It was for their own good.

Looking him dead in his eyes with schooled features, Mercedes dismisses Puck masterfully disguising her discomfort from the consternation bearing down on his jaw. "Tomorrow?"

Puck is at a loss. He doesn't know what to do or why this is happening; so, dumbly, he accedes nodding his head and answering, "Yeah," before turning away leaving.

Mercedes scuttles to her room making a b-line to the bathroom to check her appearance before going to dinner. After clearing the tearstains from her face, she grudgingly lags into the dining area. As usual, she sits alone. She doesn't want their company. They are not him.

Thoughts run rampant through her brain, and the tears follow. The duration of dinner is filled with stuttered breaths and swiped tears. Before she's once again cognizant of herself, she's sprawled on the dark leather chaise in Dr. Pilson's office on the verge of another panic attack, suffering from an empty stomach and possibly a heart in extremis.

She weeps. Silently she weeps. God the girl weeps. Because of Finn and how he managed to thrust her into the fifth circle of hell leaving her to gurgle beneath the surface. Her tears flow because of this life she has. For the death, she escaped or missed. She mourns because she doesn't know if all of her wants to continue living. A sob murmurs from within her because of the tiny part of her that finds satisfaction in the pitiful life she does have.

I'm foolish. Shouldn't have thrown myself at Noah. I – I should know better. I should be more controlled. Who am I kidding? I can- can't even think…think straight because I can't control my breathing. Foolish. I am foolish. And weak. And stupid. And unwanted. Rejected. He rejected me. Embarrassed. Always embarrassed and humiliated. Because I knew. With all my everythingI knew I shouldn't have done it. He didn't want it. I'm not ready for it.

Her breathing continues to teeter between hyperventilation and normal respiration as she ponders her mistake. Sure, she feels something for Puck, but is it the same as what she foolishly continues to feel for Finn? She can't answer that question. What she knows is he's her friend. Mercedes wants him to be her friend and kissing him could change that, would change that. And for better or worse, she doesn't know if she can chance it.

Dr. Pilson observes the broken child lamenting as if she'd lost something invaluably irreplaceable. It is cause for concern and definitely, if she were to follow her books to the letter, immediate invasive action, but she's not. She doesn't relinquish her patients to the hands of medicine readily; instead, she prefers to wait. Closer to an expert than she gives herself credit for, Dr. Pilson chooses patience over prescription. Mercedes isn't her first case to exhibit avoidance, instability, severe depression, and an unwillingness to reach out for the help that eagerly awaits. Though rare, she's seen this behavior before; however, her mute acceptance has always broken through the barriers much quicker. Miss Jones is a resilient one, a trait that could be beneficial to her recovery if she would allow it. It's the only thing keeping her from yielding to the anxiety attack that Dr. Pilson can see her fighting. It's disheartening. The scene before her summons tears she cannot shed. He heart aches for the young girl. If only she were willing. But she's not.

Mercedes isn't ready. Not today. Today she just cries.

When she walks down the hall to her room, she presents a clear mask of indifference; however, once the door is slammed behind her, the mask falls away and she's consumed by the typhoon roaring inside of her.

Sleep trails a tear soaked pillow.


	21. Chapter 21

Days turn into nights and nights drift into days, but Mercedes feels as though she is still in the garden with Puck. She is still in her bedroom with Finn, still lying on that cold, filthy, bathroom floor of her high school. She's been swimming around in the convoluted waters of her mind for the past couple of days. Before now, she wielded the power to ignore, thus suppressing, the thoughts of Finn and her attempted suicide. However, since that pivotal day behind the thorny rosebush in the garden she'd come to associate with peace, she hasn't been strong enough to push them back where they belong. All of her efforts have been corralled to exacting this very endeavor with no results. She's been so far inside her head that she's barely noticed Puck or acknowledged anything he's said to her. Not that she's wanted to. The fear inside her tells her he's only been rehashing the bit of her soul she kind of involuntarily bared to him. Though she doesn't know it, that hasn't been the case, but embarrassment imprisons her. Keeps her hidden from the one person she trusts above even herself. It causes her to feel judgment that he hasn't placed on her.

She's only been mottling through. Had she known she'd be forced to relive the most shameful events in her life repeatedly, the young woman might have never opened the dam that quarantined her desolate heart. Sure, she would still be stressed and impeding her recovery, but isn't she still vexed now? Is she any closer to leaving her current place of residence than she was before she opened her disobedient mouth? The answer lies in her quickening heart and out of control breathing attacking her in the wee hours of the night that can only be staved off by the memory of warm chocolate and the intermingled colors of golden browns and bright green.

Green hazel eyes morph into rich brown ambivalent eyes in her dreams and nightmares that plunder her days. Succumbing to defeat, she retreats from reality to a world where she sees exactly where things derailed with Finn. Where, instead of falling victim to his preying prowl, she emerges the victor and his demise her spoil. More often than not, she finds herself staring down the bottom of an empty pill bottle and a smiling Finn leering at her as she lies in a coffin. Then rich brown eyes transform into a swirl of emerald and amber inching closer to her own, only to be snatched away in a mist.

"Hey."

Mercedes starts when the girl she has named "Ms Promiscuous" plops down beside her on her favored loveseat in front of the window interrupting, or perhaps saving her from her thoughts. The girl's actual name evades her; she doesn't pay much attention during group. Though her presence oozes geniality and pep, neither girl speaks as Mercedes wishes her ignorance of Ms Promiscuous will run her off so that she can resume sulking in private, but the girl doesn't seem like the type to take a hint.

From the side of her eye, Mercedes can see the beautiful girl sitting too close for comfort with her legs folded underneath her. She's thin, but not too much. Her small waist rolls into ample hips and near perfect buttocks. Mercedes found herself envying her fellow patient the moment she saw her perfect body in their first group session. Not to mention, her ethnically ambiguously fair yet tan skin tone and naturally highlighted sandy brown hair. The one thing Mercedes did not covet of the girl was her light brown eyes. Too familiar.

Ms Promiscuous is pretty. Very pretty. The type of pretty that makes a girl like Mercedes question everything about herself and then some.

Wanting nothing more than to be alone, Mercedes wants to push the girl off her couch, but she doesn't. She doesn't deserve that; so, Mercedes just remains rigor mortis still and quiet. She doesn't want to give the intruder any sign that can be misconstrued as a welcome.

"Mercedes, right?" Her shrill voice causes Mercedes to cringe. I hate group.

Ignoring her won't work, but Mercedes is considering trying it once more; however, reluctantly, she shows her unwanted company mercy and concedes. It's not as if Ms Promiscuous is going anywhere anyway. "Yeah."

The young woman jumps a little and spins to face Mercedes, her thick lips turning into one of her brightest smiles. "I'm Rylan, but I'm sure you already knew that."

Rylan. Nope. No, I didn't. I really should pay more attention in group if people thought they could start talking to me now.

Mercedes has half a mind to join in on the one-sided conversation that commences the moment she acknowledged Rylan, but thinks better of it. The girl is on a roll and needs no help from me. It's amazing. She hasn't stopped talking even though I haven't uttered another word. This goes on for some time with me barely catching anything the chattering girl says. For the past thirty minutes, I've only caught snippets of the words falling from the lips of my energetic company. That is, until I hear a word that doesn't belong.

"Uh, what did you say?"

"Oh, I just said 'is your boyfriend coming today?' I bet he is. He's here every day. It must be nice to have someone that cares about you so much. I would do anything to get a guy like that. I mean, like, anything. Well, not anything, Dr. Pilson said I shouldn't do that anymore. So, maybe not anything, Sadie, but some things. Yeah, some things. How'd you get him? Not that you're out of his league or nothing – 'cause you're a cutie – but a good guy – I mean. How did you manage to find someone who hasn't dumped you in a ravine and headed for the hills? He's sticking by you through all of this; that's rare."

"He's not my boyfriend." There's more I can say, like my name's not 'Sadie', but I figure defining my relationship with Puck truncates the sad story.

"What? No way, he is so your boyfriend."

"No, just a friend."

"Yeah right. I see you two. You're definitely more than friends."

Mercedes finally looks at the girl and when she does, it is murderous. "He is **NOT**__my boyfriend."

"Okay, okay, wow back down killer. I was just saying. You two," Mercedes gives her a stern look. "Fine, I'll lay off." Rylan points her thumb toward the window. "Speak of the devil. Looks like he's on his way over. Talk to you later. Have fun talking to your _friend._" She says skipping away with a smirk and a wink. She passes Puck with a giggle before she disappears down the hallway.

Puck drops down beside Mercedes with a huff. He glances in her direction and spies an uncharacteristic smirk on her lips. He hasn't seen this much expression from her since a few days ago. He can't say that she's been cold but quiet, more like she was preoccupied. Were the circumstances different, he might not have tolerated such from her, but as it is, he allows her the space she needs. English Girl has a lot to sort out and he wouldn't be the one to push her over the cliff after that massive anxiety attack she'd had the other day. If he can help it, he will not be the cause of her having another one. She needs her time to process everything and make sense of whatever she needs to – he doesn't really know – but he understands. Time is needed and that's what he's giving her. Despite her sunnier disposition, he won't be upset if she doesn't impart that disposition toward him. Puck said he would be there for her and he will, even through more distancing if he needs to.

"Who was that?"

The committed teenager doesn't look at him or answer his question as she rises from the couch. "Want to go outside?"

"Sure."

She waits for him to stand before taking off. They walk in silence to the garden. Taking his friend's lead, Puck avoids walking anywhere near the pond. He understands. He doesn't like the memory of her that the beautiful place evokes either.

They stroll at a leisurely pace absorbing the sights as they did the first time they'd ventured outside the walls of Willow Brooke. They want to take it all in. They haven't been out since the day he found out about Mercedes and Finn. Until now, they had sat inside the cold lobby or the common room. He'd talk and she'd respond, but not exactly; she wasn't there. Yet, he never gave up. They don't stop until they reach the big old oak tree – their spot. When they take their seats, they are too far apart. Inside it's hard to notice the distance, but out here in this open space he can't ignore how foreign it feels. Over the past few days, he hasn't paid much attention to it. Too worried about English Girl or too busy thinking about the almost kiss he nearly allowed to happen. Turning to look at her, I take a deep breath and release it in a heavy sigh. It sucks that I have been here every day, but I still miss her.

They simmer in silence, his question tossed in the air unanswered, but not forgotten. She could never forget anything Puck ever asked her. Though there's been tension, more from her than him – only from her – she's still glad he hasn't given up on her. Hasn't abandoned her like her father.

Puck abruptly slides closer to Mercedes, grabbing her hand. "I'm sorry."

Mercedes startles at the feel of his warm skin on her cold palm. His leg touching hers. It's all she can do to keep her voice steady. "You have nothing to apologize for." Her voice cracks flatly, heavily. She hasn't really_ heard_ him until now. The sound of his voice hasn't really registered. How it feels rolling over her and through her. She has deftly avoided it. But not now, not with him atoning for something both of them know requires no absolution. He was right. He was right, but she isn't going there with him.

When she finally builds up the courage to face him, severe eyes meet hers, curious. But she doesn't answer. She can't go there, not now, maybe later, maybe never, but not now and she's begging him not to drag her there. He has his ways, but she's pleading. "You have nothing to apologize for." She repeats in a tone no different from the first time.

His mind slows. He doesn't want to be an incessant, pushy person – the part of him he gets from his mother – but he needs her to know that it isn't what she thinks. It may not be what he thinks, but it's definitely not what he'd seen in her eyes that night she'd pushed away his outstretched hand with hurt watering her eyes.

The eyes he can see glinting in the clouded sunlight. She's not necessarily accepting of his apology, too raw, but she's looking at him and not through him, nor is she looking past him as she'd done when he'd arrived today and all the other days after her confession. He gets it. Gazing into her eyes, feeling her cool hand tense against his, he detects it in her calm breathing; she gets it. They're okay for now. Now is too soon, but they're okay. He smirks at her then rubs the back of his hand across her cheek.

For the first in so many days, her lips smooth over her teeth revealing her beautiful smile. Feeling relieved of a morsel of burden, Mercedes leans in closer to Puck and places her head on his shoulder.

It confounds her that only in this moment, with the gentle fragrance of chocolate and spice settling in her lungs, does she realize that for the past few days she hasn't felt the warmth of Puck's hand or the comfort his body lends her. But now, Mercedes is acutely aware of the loss she's suffered without him at her side too bothered with her thoughts to notice that he was there. Always there. Although she didn't know it until her head hit his shoulder, she's missed him. He's been there all along, through her absence, but she's missed him.

Ignoring unanswered and unquestioned distractions, Mercedes gives in to the liberty Puck offers. They'll deal with everything later, when she's ready. But right now, she just wants to be as they were before. Easy and free.

"Ms Promiscuous – I mean – god that was awful – her name is…Rylan."

"Who?" I question stirring from my nap. Guess I must have dozed off. What is she talking about?

"The girl you asked about." Mercedes pokes him in his side. He's the one that asked about her; although, it was over an hour ago.

"Oh, and you call her…Ms Promiscuous – I must be rubbing off on you – is there a story behind that?" he chortles completely amused with the beautiful, big-hearted girl beside him.

Her cheeks warm, she can't believe she said that out loud. "Kind of. I don't know any of their names. I don't – I listen to their stories and sometimes things stick out and they get a name. Not all of them, just some. She has this thing where she – this is so wrong. I feel so bad…the nickname- I shouldn't be-"

"It's not so bad."

"Yes it is, but you want to know, so I'll tell you anyway. I need you to know, though, that I don't think less of her because of it." I move to look up at him. I know I'm not always the best person, but I need him to know that I am not some self-absorbed hypocrite who thinks I'm better than anyone else.

"I know you don't." He smiles and I place my head back on his shoulder to continue.

"Well, she never knew her father and because of that she feels lonely. But then there's sex." I swallow deeply affected by the word more than I should be. "She has it with everyone, anyone, all to feel loved – she said – she trades it just to spend time with someone." Mercedes' voice adopts a knowing somber note. "She gave herself away so she didn't have to be alone. That's how I came up with that. Sad thing is she's gorgeous – you saw her, beautiful right?"

"Yeah," but not as beautiful as you, I couldn't say. Too soon. "She a friend?" I ask her to clear my mind of thoughts I have no right to think at this point in our friendship.

"Not exactly. She's in one of my group sessions. She just popped up out of nowhere and started talking to me. She's so amped – hyper – I couldn't get a word in edgewise, if I wanted to, which I didn't."

Puck's head falls on top of Mercedes. "Why not?"

"I don't…I don't want to talk to these people. I have enough problems on my own. I'm – I just don't."

Puck nods his head, but questions her anyway. "Did she seem like a bad person, someone you shouldn't associate yourself with?"

"No."

"Was she rude or unfriendly, seem like a trouble starter or a bully or something?"

Mercedes removes herself from Puck's side to examine his face wondering where her best friend was going with his line of questioning. A bit uncharacteristic for the Noah she's accustomed to, but she answers anyway. "No."

"Was she nice?"

"Yes, is there a reason for the interrogation?"

"No, just questions." He replies almost too cool, even for himself. Even he cringes at his own voice. Hopefully, she doesn't notice.

She does. He has an ulterior motive and Mercedes is on to him, but she'll play along because she's not going to figure it out unless he tells her, and quite frankly, she doesn't care. They are talking, or rather, she's talking with him again; she's not going to blow this to bits because she's taking something too personally. So, she only answers with an, "Oh," before reclaiming her place snuggled into his side with her head on his shoulder. Puck also takes his previous position with his head perched atop hers where he can breathe in that glorious magnolia scent he's become to favor so much.

There had been plenty of times over the course of the week where the two sat silently, logs adrift at sea. However, this time they're together and peaceable; yes there is a very obvious unresolved issue hanging in the air. But they can handle it because it's not weighing them down.

It is a long time before either of them speaks, and when she does, they delve into a routinely mundane conversation that has been hard to come by even before her confession, since she was in the hospital. For once, neither teen is aggravated or upsetting the other. The remainder of their time together that's what they do, engage each other in the insanely prosaic sparing no time for their troubles.

He tells her about his mom and her new boyfriend; she details the new, old book she's reading, _Count of Monte Cristo._ It's all so simple. They could do with such. To be themselves without playing hopscotch around each other, or the mental patient and the shoulder to cry on. Today, they are old pals on a bike ride along a graveled trail circling a sun sparkled lake. In the distance, birds sing and chipmunks chatter in the surrounding forest. Neither Mercedes nor Puck venture from the path before them, but stay the course until their time together draws to an end.

"God, it's almost six."

"Yeah. I wish I could stay longer."

"Me too, but you have homework-"

"-like I actually do it-"

"-and dinner-"

"-which, I have to make for myself tonight because Mom has a date." He grumps.

"Don't say it like that. Your mom has been single since you. Give her a break, bratty momma's boy." She stands up then reaches for Puck's hand to help him up.

He takes it in his rising to his feet, but he doesn't let her hand go as they walk toward the building.

Once inside, Puck responds to Mercedes' jibe. "I'm not a brat." He deadpans finally letting go of her hand.

"No? So, just a momma's boy, huh?"

"Not even that. I just don't want to cook."

She hears the lie and she can't let it slip, there would be no fun in that. "Yeah, yeah, momma's boy, you lie. You want your mom all to yourself – in a non-oedipal way, of course. But it's okay. You have a great mother that spoils you. I understand." She pokes Puck in his abdomen eliciting a chuckle from him. "You better go. I have to go to dinner and you have to cook yours."

"Yeah." He stands awkwardly waiting for something he can't name, while Mercedes smiles at him and heads to the dining area. When she reaches his side, he gathers her in his arms holding her tightly.

At first, she just stands there as he embraces her, but in a short time, she wraps her arms around his waist squeezing him as tightly as he's squeezing her. They hug each other like this for much long than they should. Grudgingly, they separate; and when they do, Puck places his hands on either side of her face cupping her cheeks.

I stare up at him suspiciously. He can't be about to kiss me. He'd stopped me from kissing him not long ago. But he's staring at me with a look in his eye. The way he's looking at me, peering at me, my heart beats faster and I feel the air in my lungs rush out.

He leans forward. I didn't want to _not _kiss her the other day, it's just that we shouldn't have. Even now, I know I shouldn't, but I can't leave things as they are. She thinks I rejected her, which wasn't the case, but how can I tell her that if she's not willing to talk about it. I understand, but I have to let her know.

Puck smiles as he covers the rest of the way planting a soft kiss on her forehead. His lips linger on her feverish skin hoping to God he's made himself clear. He steps back to look into her eyes. "Good night, English Girl." Puck's caresses her warm cheeks with his thumbs then turns and walks out of the building leaving Mercedes standing in the lobby.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

He hasn't seen her in over two months. Not that he cares. But that's a long time. He wouldn't say he's worried, not outright, maybe not to himself even. He's just curious. That's what it is. She's never missed more than a day within a school year, not that he's noticed. It isn't like he likes her or anything. No, it's not that. Just curiosity that has him thinking about Mercedes, Jonesie – that's what he calls her in his head.

The last time he saw her – talked to her – was that day in her bedroom. Since then, well…he hasn't had to avoid her because she's avoided him, then stopped coming to school. Why? He needs to know why she's missing. He wants to know if she has anything to do with the rumor he heard months back – a girl trying to kill herself. He hopes not. She's a nice girl. A smart girl. She wouldn't do that. Her parents are loaded and give her freedom. She doesn't have a reason to want to kill herself.

Finn sits on his bed watching television, but not really watching it. He can't seem to stop thinking about Jonesie.

He'd stretched it out too long. She was supposed to be easier; most losers were with a guy like him. Maybe she was too. He wouldn't know? He'd felt weird even making out with her that first time; she was new. He could tell she'd never been kissed. Never done anything. Even though a part deep inside him knew he should have abandoned his youthful mission, the larger part that had to answer to his friends couldn't. He wasn't a loser and he'd accepted the dare so he had to follow through, which he kind of did. There was no way he was going through with the public part at all. Public humiliation would have been too much. It was bad enough to hear her say she loved him. Those words from her did something to him. He had to break up with her then and there; besides, what good would public degradation do if only a select few knew they were kind of together in the first place.

Finn glances out of his window at the ethereal, starless night wondering how it all happened. How he'd let her crawl under his skin infecting him. Septic. She wasn't his type. He didn't think so. He still can't see himself with someone like Jonesie. She's fat, and nowhere near as beautiful as Quinn or any of the other cheerleaders. But still…he finds himself haunted by the feel of her skin under his fingertips. The press of her lips to his. Finn's face bunches into a frown remembering a time when he'd tugged on a long strand of her hair as he passed her at her locker. She'd smiled when he turned to look back at her when no one was looking. He didn't return the gesture; that would have been stupid, he did lift one side of his mouth into a devious smirk and wink his eye. She'd giggled at him. His girl – for all intents and purposes – had giggled at him. Had she thought him funny or lame? He doesn't know. The jock never asked her, he couldn't express care or concern for her opinion. If things were to work out as planned, he had to be in control, no matter how much he hated it.

He isn't the most ambitious. Finn Hudson is only a leader on the field; football is his life. Outside that, he prefers to coast, gliding through with minimal effort allowing others to do the work for him. It was hard work making all the plans and keeping Mercedes only so close. The only time he was himself was when they talked – more like he let her talk while he listened. He isn't the sharpest tool and he knows it; so, he had no problem letting her talk about her poetry and her books. Whenever he got tired of listening, he'd just kiss her to shut her up. She made him feel dumber than he knew he was. Bonus points went to her for being a quick and apt pupil. He taught her well. Too well.

He couldn't get enough. She was so sweet, mature. Vanilla. She always tasted like vanilla. Something savory. Cinnamon? He didn't get a chance to figure it out. He isn't dumb enough to lie to himself. If it were at all possible, he would take the time to figure it out. He might have been doing that at this very moment had she stuck around. Most girls came back even after he'd gotten rid of them, but she didn't. Jonesie did the opposite. She'd kept away from him; though, she'd been one he wouldn't have minded to continue to rendezvous with on occasion. The others were skanks, hardly worth it, but he was the only one – her only one – and that meant something.

He runs his hands over his low cut hair rising from his bed to close the curtains. Not enough. Maybe it didn't mean enough. What had happened to her? A sick feeling stirs in his stomach, and he thinks if it persists he might wretch. Without the clear night sky mocking him, he could think straight. He could think of Quinn or Santana or any of the other girls he's had.

It works.

For only a minute.

They'd spent a night like this out at the lake. He'd let her talk for much longer than he should have. She'd told him about her hopes, dreams. It was morbid. She didn't have ideas of grandeur that he thought she should have; if anyone could become anything, it would be Jonesie. She wanted a simple life with someone who loved her and would never leave her. She wanted two children that looked nothing like her and everything like their dad, whoever that would be. Mercedes talked about being a teacher because Mr. Carlton, her English teacher, made her feel like the most important person in the world. He didn't ignore her raised hand because she was a know it all. He understood her love of academia. He'd kissed her forehead gingerly as she spoke, and gazed up at the void night. He'd blanked out; he couldn't hear over the warmth he felt with her in his arms. He doesn't remember how or when she'd started talking about anything other than school or her future. Finn just remembers being pulled from the silence by an alluring melodious tone. For a second, he'd thought he was just hearing things or Mercedes had started the docked iPod. But then he'd looked down, and he'd saw her. Eyes closed, voice just audible. She was singing, and it was the most bewitching thing he'd ever heard. He found out later that she'd written the song herself. She was talented. He hadn't known that about her until that night. Whether she was humble or shy, he doesn't know. She never sang for him again.

He takes to pacing the floor; however, to appease himself, he fiddles with his laundry, tidies his room. He's not pacing. He's cleaning his room. Finn is not worried about Mercedes Jones. No, not that. If only Puck would have answered his question, then he wouldn't be so curious. Who is he to Jonesie to keep secrets for her? Before he got into it with Puckerman, he knew for a fact that the guy had no idea who she was. He'd seen his teammate walk past her without looking at her. He couldn't even be bothered to participate in the slushy splashing. So, what Kool-Aid is he drinking to cause him to beat up his friend for a girl he didn't even know? Puck hadn't been interested in the least when Finn mentioned her name in the locker room, then he was calling for a number for her parents or some friends. Suspicious behavior. How did he know her? He knows Puck had never dated her because she was still a virgin when he got to her. What is he missing? He needs to know. Maybe she was the girl...no. She couldn't be. Not Jonesie. And how would that involve Puck?

Thinking harder than he's ever thought in all his life, Finn tries to figure out a way to get an answer to any of his questions. He couldn't call Puck that would probably lead to sudden death. That guy was really crazy over a girl he shouldn't even know or care about. She doesn't have any friends, so that is out of the question. He could call her home, but what if he got her instead of her mom or something. That wouldn't do, but what other choice does he have. No one at school knows her or seems to care that she's essentially been missing for nearly three months. He has to do it.

Finn drops the dirty clothes he's carrying and picks up his cell phone from the nightstand by his bed. He hasn't changed the name in his phone, so, he looks for the _v-spot_, grudgingly. Upon finding the offensive and ignorant appellation, he slides his thumb over it praying that her mom answers the call.

"Hello." Thank heavens.

"Uh, Mrs. Jones?"

"Yes, may I ask who's speaking?"

"Finn, Finn Hudson."

Silence. She doesn't know him. He'd refused to meet Mercedes' parents; though, she'd tried a few times to get him to do so. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"Um, I'm," will she believe him? It's worth a shot. "Mercedes' friend, from school."

"Oh, I haven't – well…she did mention having a friend. What do you want with her?"

"She hasn't been to school in a while, and I was just wondering if she…is she okay?"

"Why haven't you called before now?"

He hadn't thought about that. He's her friend and he's only showing concern now, her mom must think he's a major douche. Finn ruffles his brain for a plausible excuse. "She and I kind of were more than friends, but we got into a big fight – it was my fault – she said she didn't want to hear from me again so…I don't know. I just – is she okay?" He wasn't lying per se, and that couldn't have been worry etching his voice.

"Oh, dear, she's," she chokes up, "Merci is at Willow Brooke-"

"The nut house – I mean – I'm sorry, mental hospital?"

Ignoring the teenager's snafu, "Yes, she's been there for a while now. She hasn't called you?"

"No ma'am, I really hurt her. Do they have visiting hours or something?" He really _needs_ to hurry this conversation along. This woman is making him say things he doesn't want to even think about. She's making him feel things he's effortlessly ignored.

"Yes, pretty much anytime she's free, which is most afternoons and evenings."

"Okay. Do you think it would be okay if I visited her?"

"I don't know." The line falls silent.

Maybe…

"Mrs. Jones, can I ask you a question, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but…I just gotta know – what happened to Mercedes?"

Mrs. Jones – he doesn't know her name or her husband's – sobs into the receiver before muting her line. It's a solid three minutes before she responds. "Honey, Mercedes – Merci – she tried to commit…suicide. It happened at the school – How did you _not_ know?"

She's a doctor – a crazy person doctor at that – of course he'd have to answer some questions. She's smart just like her daughter.

"No one knows. I mean, no one knows the name of the person."

"That's good; I guess."

"Yeah, she won't have to worry about people ragging on her about it when she comes back." Curiosity eats its way through his heart. Why had she done something so…so final? "Do you know why? Why she…you know?"

"No. I don't. Even if I did that would be for her to tell not me. Look…"

"Finn-"

"Finn, I have – have to go. Bye."

His mind attacks itself. The room swirls before him. He falls onto his bed to stop the spinning, but looking at his ceiling the light is swaying. Closing his eyes, he covers his face with his sweaty hands. He was wrong. It _**was**_Jonsie. She'd tried to kill herself; and if his math is right, she attempted to do it, like, soon after he'd taken her virginity and dumped her.

Stupid.

But he couldn't be the reason, he's good but not that good. He wasn't even the best fake boyfriend.

It's not his fault.

He repeats this mantra but it does nothing to calm the waves rocking his mind or ease the nausea forcing bile into his esophagus. His stomach muscles contract violently forcing him onto wobbly legs in a mad dash for the bathroom adjoining his room. His stomach is empty when he finally stumbles from the bathroom, and in addition to being slightly disoriented, he now has a pounding headache. Finn is grateful he's already eaten dinner because there would be no way he could explain to his mom why he isn't hungry.

The feeble teenager tumbles onto his bed thoroughly exhausted. He hadn't planned for this. Hadn't thought it possible that someone could actually want to kill themselves. Especially not someone his age. He rolls over to his side staring at the curtained window. He wishes that, like usual, he can close his eyes and have sleep ambush him, but he can't do that when he can't bring himself to lower his lids too afraid he'd see her pained face that day he broke her. Frightened of imagining her in that bathroom at their flipping school dying. He can't add that to the sound of her singing voice echoing in his head alternating with the teary song of her confusion the day she'd told him she loved him.

He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until he jerks awake from the first nightmare he's had since he was a little boy.

Finn Doesn't know it now, but he won't get a good night's sleep for the rest of his life.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"Hey." I almost whisper stepping into the door of Dr. Pilson's office.

When she hears my voice for the first time, she startles, but recovers quickly replacing her opened mouth with a smile.

"Good evening, Ms. Jones."

I don't smile back. I don't know why. Maybe because I just stuck my foot in my mouth by greeting her and I now feel obligated to continue, at least at some point.

I walk over to the chaise and take a seat with my feet off the floor and my posture ramrod straight against the back of the chair. As I stare ahead, Dr. Pilson stands from her seat behind her desk, picks up her notebook – my file – and saunters to the seat adjacent to the one I'm sitting in. She doesn't take the lead like I assume she should. Instead, she sits quietly marking notes, and glancing in my direction intermittently. We go on like this for about ten minutes before I build up the nerve to speak to her again.

Truthfully, I don't speak for so long because I don't know where to start. Do I start with my cheating, absent father who has another family and hates my mother and possibly me too? Or my drunken negligent mother that didn't care enough for me to abstain from alcohol to make sure that I wasn't losing myself in her failed marriage? Then there's the all consuming topic of the boyfriend that I fell in love with and gave my virginity to all because I was so lonely, only to have him brutally dump me immediately following the act and the foolish confession of my love for him. Or, do I start with Noah? My best friend, my only friend, the person who rescued me, the sole person holding me to this physical world. The only person who cares enough to stick around. The person I almost kissed. The same one that rejected me then turned around and kissed me on the forehead.

"I almost kissed him." My eyes flick toward Dr. Pilson to catch her reaction; I find her nonplussed by my sudden outburst, as if she expected it.

"Care to elaborate?" There is no urging or insistence in her tone, merely a statement that if I wish I may continue. I have no doubt she'll be just as fine if I don't. But I do.

"His name is Noah. Noah Puckerman. He told me he goes by Puck. Everyone he knows calls him Puck except his mother and me." I ramble on like this for a while detailing how my relationship with Noah came to be and the way things have been more or less since I woke up in the hospital. I do skip the bits involving my parents or any mention of Finn. Just Noah.

"This friend of yours, he's the one you almost kissed?"

"Yes."

"How long ago was this?"

"A while ago, more than a couple of weeks, I think? I can't be sure. The days following were kind of a haze but definitely a while ago."

"Would it have been the day you…deviated from your…usual behavior during our session?" She questions sensitively.

I startle. I don't answer her right off remembering the day and afraid of what she's asking until I realize a simple yes or no will suffice. "Yes." It's meek and almost feeble, but it manages past my lips.

"Was this…the result of the 'almost kiss'?"

As simple as it is – yes or no – I find myself stumbling. "Yes –no. No. Not really."

Dr. Pilson doesn't write anything in her book – I don't see any movement in my peripheral. Also, she doesn't say anything further. No suggestion or leading, which I think I may need. The decision to continue is up to me. I tell her or I don't, either way it's my choice, which I'm grappling with. I know I'm not going to tell her what I told Noah about Finn, but do I want to tell her about any of it?

I sit in contemplation dragging that particular afternoon to the forefront of my memory. I'd told Noah what had happened between Finn and me – not the sole reason for my thirst for death but the proverbial nail in my nearly closed coffin – he wanted to know and I needed him to know. I wanted _him_ to know that I trusted him. I wanted to convey to him how important he is to me. He's my friend –my best friend. For that reason alone, I don't know why I tried to kiss him. Maybe it was the moment, maybe it was his caring nature, or my mind was fried from the panic attack. I don't know because regardless of the _something_ I feel for him, I knew better than to try to kiss him. But I did and he rejected me.

In that instant with raw, frayed, and tortured emotions, it was easy to superimpose what I felt when Finn broke my heart onto the humiliation and embarrassment I experienced at the sudden distance Noah had put between us. I was crushed. It shouldn't have happened, and even then, I knew he was right to pull away, but that didn't stop it from hurting all the same. I can't say for certain that my breakdown had more to do with Finn or Noah alone because there are feelings – emotions, but I'm inclined to just ignore whatever they are. I'm no idiot, wading into those waters can't possibly be healthy or beneficial. Not that I'm clear on what these feelings are exactly.

I had spent days after just inside my head sorting out my emotions. Frankly, I had to sort out if I intended to even feel what I thought I was feeling and how that all related to Noah. After a few more days of sorting, I finally decided to tuck it all away into my mind vault. I was fine. I wasn't going to talk to Noah about the non-kiss; I hadn't intended to mention it to Dr. Pilson. I had, in a manner of speaking, made my peace with Noah's rejection after the incident and a little thinking. I thought that would be the end of it. We were talking again and I wasn't going to bring up my colossal mistake ever, but then he actually kissed me. A forehead kiss, but a kiss nonetheless, a kiss that could mean anything and nothing at all. It was definitely vague enough to provoke my imagination and throw everything I needed to be true into the land of confusion.

"Mercedes?"

I tumble from my thoughts rapidly turning towards my psychiatrist to see her staring at me with concern shimmering in her eyes. She offers me a closed lipped smile and I feel like I can trust her. "He rejected me."

"But that wasn't the catalyst," she states as a matter of fact.

"No, not entirely but in a way, yes. It just felt too familiar." I can't elaborate, but I do continue. "I wasn't prepared for it…I guess the feel of it – coming from him. I was – it made me angry with myself, with…"

"_It _not _him_?"

"What?

"_It _upset you not _he_, why that particular wording?" I can't explain how grateful I am that she isn't questioning the other person I was also angry with. I'm not ready to go there, and maybe she can tell.

I regard her question carefully. I hadn't noticed any 'particular wording' – but now that I think of it… "I wasn't _upset_ with him, not exactly. I was more embarrassed and hurt. I felt stupid. It – the fact that I tried to kiss the only person-" I immediately clamp my mouth shut.

"Go on." Her voice is void of emotion, but it's there, underlying her clinical handling of me. She's doing her job, but unlike Dr. Rankin, the most jaded person I know, she genuinely cares. She wants to help me, and for the first time since I was admitted, I am unwittingly willing to receive her help.

"Noah is the only person that matters in my life. Because of that, I was upset. I could have ruined things between the two of us over something so stupid." It's not a complete lie, no, but all I can give her at this time without my lungs collapsing.

As she scribbles her notes, I'm compelled to speak more. "At the time, when he pulled away it was like…like he was pulling away from _me. _It was like he was rejecting _me_, not just my advances."

"You said 'at the time', what do mean?" She lays her pen flat to the notebook folding her hands one on top of the other giving me her full attention.

"He came back the next day and the day after that. I barely considered him, his presence, but he kept coming. He never stopped coming. He didn't leave me. But that day – the day I almost kissed him – I didn't know or care. I was too mortified to think about it. Even when he came back the next day, I couldn't see it."

"See what?" The doctor asks leaning forward in her chair slightly.

"That he was there for me. That he_ is_ here for me. I can trust him. I can rely on him." When I finish my explanation, I am keenly aware that there is a grin touching my lips and so does Dr. Pilson based on the expression on her face.

"I assume that things between you and Noah are better."

My face contorts into what I picture is an anomalous image as I'm reminded of Noah's lips pressed against the skin of my forehead because Dr. Pilson lowers her glasses and questions me.

"Am I wrong in my assumption?"

"No." I extend the word exaggerating dramatically.

"Are you sure?" she chuckles.

"Yes. It's just-"

"Yes, Mercedes."

"It's just that I'm confused."

"About?"

"He – Noah – he kind of kissed me like a week or so ago. I don't know if it was friendly or something else, but I-"

"Do you want it to be something else?"

"I don't know." We both ruminate over this for a few minutes. I surmise that Dr. Pilson is allowing me time to either come to a conclusion or stick in the mud where I am. And I do, I think about what I want. I really try to figure it out in the amount of time I have with her. Less than five minutes swish around us before the she checks her watch reluctantly.

"Our time is coming to a close, so, I'm going to give you something to think about. From what I've gathered from our conversation, you and this Noah have a very complex, yet, stable relationship. _Very _strong. I cannot comment on his feelings or what this 'kind of kiss' meant to him. As for you, you are confused, as you have said, and do not know if you want anything more than the friendship with Noah than you already have." I nod my head in understanding when Dr. Pilson pauses. "I ask you to think about _this_: what are you ready for, are you ready for a relationship, are you ready for how that will change the dynamic between you and your friend? Are you ready for the outcomes of any of those questions? Think on that and when you can answer each of those questions with a firm yes or no, you will no longer be confused about what you want because you'll know what you are ready for." She stands from her seat smiling warmly at me. "That's it for today. You may go." She turns to walk to her desk then jerks around after a few steps. Just as my hand touches the doorknob, I hear her clear her throat.

"And Mercedes, you don't have to answer those questions by our next session. There is no deadline. Take your time and think it through, okay."

"Okay." I smile in her direction and walk from her office to the common room. I need to clear my head before bed.

The doctor gave me a lot to think about, but I don't want to think about it just yet, so I settle in front of the one television that isn't occupied by gamers. I flip on the television cruising the channels until I land on a rerun of_ Murder She Wrote_. I haven't seen this show since before…it'll be a good distraction from what Dr. Pilson and I talked about.

I'm ten minutes from the end of the episode, the best part where the killer is revealed - I rarely guess right - when Rylan plops down beside me with her usual introduction of Sadie – her clipped version of the last part of my name – jumping right into whatever it is she talks about.

"You look different." I would feel offended if not for her utterly chipper tone.

I don't respond, I just raise my brow; she understands. Since our first encounter, I haven't been able to shake her. Truthfully, I haven't tried. Noah wouldn't be happy if I did. He hasn't blatantly said it, but he likes the idea of me having a friend outside of him. I guess she'll do.

Rylan nudges my shoulder smiling. "Your eyes, they don't look so sad. No, not today – tonight," she giggles at her mistake, "tonight they look almost normal. Not happy yet but certainly not your usual." She glances toward the television squinting her eyes in contemplation. "I know. You finally talked to Dr. P. You-"

"How do you know I _didn't_ talk to Dr. Pilson? I didn't tell-"

"You didn't have to. You never even open your mouth in group, so, it's not a stretch to believe you're the same during your solos. I'm the only patient you _barely_ talk to – yeah I noticed. I'm not stupid, Sadie. I think sometimes – when I want to. When it comes to you, you're so interesting I can't help myself." She guffaws.

I smile at her, but I don't say anything. I rarely do; it's so hard to get words in that sometimes I don't try. Besides, I think she likes talking; it keeps her from thinking. Just like I prefer not to talk because it tends to lead to revealing too much of myself. It's a mutually winsome relationship. She doesn't have to think and I don't have to talk. Perfect.

So, I listen as she chirps on. Thirty contemplative minutes pass before I can respond to any of the questions she's posed. She gives me five seconds to reply before she plows on about how much she loves Dr. Pilson and how much she's helped her and how now that I'm letting 'Dr. P.' help me maybe she'd get to hear me laugh and she'd get to see my eyes shine brightly with happiness. I don't comment; she doesn't expect me to, then as soon as she's started the subject of my therapy sessions she hops to another.

Time eases on and I allow her words to bathe me in indifference. I take the time to let my mind wonder over possibilities and what-ifs, and Noah and his telling eyes and gentle hands. I don't worry or stress or bid confusion. I don't know what I want right now and there's nothing I can do about that. I know I have Noah, and nothing else matters tonight.

I am so deep in thought that I hardly notice when Rylan gives my shoulder a squeeze and yawns 'goodnight.' When I realize she's leaving, I rise from my seat to catch up with her. In a rare silence, we walk together to our hall. Reaching her door, she smiles hugging me tightly but briskly before scurrying into her room. I can't say that her tactility surprises me anymore, and secretly, I'm grateful for her spirited gestures; so, without my usual fuss, I amble to my room with sleep-tired eyes.

Once in bed, I fall asleep with ease for the first time in months, since before waking up in a hospital. My slumber is peacefully filled with his eyes, and his lips, and the sound of his voice echoing all around me. Just him and no one else.


End file.
